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The Arts 



OF 



Writing, Reading, and Speaking. 



BY 

EDWARD W. COX. 



M& 



NEW YORK: 

Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square. 

LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. 
M DCCC LXX. 






\* 



"l 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 

GEO. W. CARLETON, 

ill the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 

District of New York. 



Transfer 

■aelneers School Uby, 
JUfte 29,1931 



The New York Printing Company, 

81, 83, and 85 Centre Streets 

New York. 



PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 



The road to knowledge is free to all who will give the labor 
and study requisite to gather it ; nor are there any difficulties so 
great that the student of resolute purpose may not effectually 
surmount and overcome them. Mankind may possess the mate- 
rials of knowledge, but it must exercise wisdom and understand- 
ing in applying them. 

It is to point out the road to these high results, and to enlarge 
the faculties for independent self-culture, that this treatise is laid 
before the public. It aims to instruct the student ivJiat to do, 
how to do it, and how to learn to do it. 

It not only treats upon the foundation of the arts of Writing, 
Reading, and Speaking, but embraces lessons in Thinking, Style, 
Language, Pronunciation, Expression, Punctuation, Attitude, De- 
livery, and Action; besides countless hints upon the proper 
rendering of Poetry, the Heading of Narrative, the Bible, Dra- 
matic Reading, Wit and Humor, Public Readings, Composition, 
the Art of Writing a Speech ; the Oratory of the Pulpit, Bar, 
Senate, Platform ; Social Oratory, and that of the various other 
professions and occasions for rhetorical display. 

The work is adapted not only to the students of both sexes in 
schools, but also to the searcher after knowledge of maturer 
years. It will help the lawyer to climb the heights of his pro- 
fession through close and limited courts; the parliamentary 
leader to powers of mental endurance, and activity of extraordi- 
nary intellect; the political leader to bear the excitement of long 
and anxious debate in a crowded house ; and is generally adapted 
to enlarge the faculties for independent self-culture. 

Previous expensive editions having been adopted by many 
schools and institutions as an educational work, this new reprint 
is published at a greatly reduced price, in the hope that it may be 
taken into general use. 



Contents. 



Part I. — Introduction. 

PAOE 

I. — Introductory .. .. .. .. 9 

II. — The Objects, Uses, and Advantages of the Art of Speaking . . 14 

III. — The Foundations of the Arts of Speaking and Writing . . 22 

Part II. — Art of Writing. 

IV. — First Lessons in the Art of Writing .. .. 29 

V. — Reading and Thinking 36 

VI. -Style 41 

VII. — Language .. 46 

VIII. — Words — Sentences— -Rythm .. .. 51 

IX. — The Art of Writing " 59 

Part III. — Art of Reading. 

X. — The Art of Reading 04 

XI. — The Art of Reading — What to Avoid — Articulation . . . . 70 

XII. — Pronunciation — Expression 76 

XIII. — The Art of the Actor and the Reader 81 

XIV. — The Management of the Voice — Tone 87 

XV. — Emphasis .. .. 93 

, XVI, — Pause — Punctuation — Management of the Breath— Inflection 99 

XVII.— Attitude — Influence of the Mental over the Physical Powers 107 

XVIII. — Illustrations .. ..* .. .-. .. .; .. ..Ill 

XIX. — Illustrations of Tone, Emphasis, and Pause 118 

XX. — Illustrations (continued) 124 

XXL— Illustrations (continued) 130 

XXIL— How to Read Poetry 139 

vii 



vin Contents. 

FAGS 

XXIII. — Beading of Narrative, Argument, and Sentiment .. ..148 

XXIV. — Special Readings — The Bible 155 

XXV. — Dramatic Reading 161 

XXVI. — The Reading of Wit and Humor 170 

XXVII. — The Uses of Reading 173 

XXVIII. — Public Readings 178 

Part IV. — Art of Speaking. 

XXIX. — The Art of Speaking 190 

XXX. — Foundations of the Art of Speaking 194 

XXXI. — The Art of Speaking — What to Say— Composition .. 196 

XXXII. — Cautions— How to Begin 201 

XXXIII. — The First Lesson — Writing a Speech 207 

XXXIV. — The Art of Speaking —First Lessons 212 

XXXV. — Public Speaking 218 

XXXVI. — Delivery 224 

XXXVII. — Action 231 

XXXVIII. — The Construction of a Speech 237 

XXXIX.— The Oratory of the Pulpit 244 

XL. — The Oratory of the Senate "252 

XLL — The Oratory of the Bar 261 

XLIL — The Oratory of the Bar (continued) .. 269 

XLIIL — The Oratory of the Bar (concluded) 277 

XLIV. — The Oratory of the Platform 282 

XLV. — The Oratory of the Platform (continued) 288 

XL VI. — The Oratory of the Platform (continued) 295 

XL VII. — The Oratory of the Platform (concluded) 302 

XL VII I. — Social Oratory .. .. 315 



THE ARTS 



or 



WRITING, READING, AND SPEAKING. 



o^o 



ILtittx !♦ 

INTBOD UGTOBY. 

You have asked me for hints to help you in your 
studies of the Art of Oratory. I readily comply with 
your request, and I will endeavor to throw together 
my thoughts upon it in a shape that may possibly be 
useful to others also. It is a subject in which I have 
taken much interest, and on which I hope to be enabled 
to convey to you some suggestions not to be found in 
existing treatises. 

But I must take the liberty to change its name. I do 
not like the title, — oratory ; it has a pretentious sound. 
We do not think or talk of a man as an orator unless he 
excels in the art ; we look upon an oration as something 
higher and grander than a speech. If a man were to call 
himself " an orator," we should call him conceited ; but 
he might call himself " a speaker " without reproach to hi? 



io Introductory. 

modesty. So, if I were to profess to give you hints fof 
the stud}' of oratory, I should be reasonably met by the 
objection that I am not myself " an orator," and therefore 
have no right to appear as a teacher of oratory. But by 
the requirements of my profession I am compelled to be 
" a speaker," — an indifferent one, I know, — - and there- 
fore I may venture, without incurring the charge of pre- 
sumption, to impart to others so much as I may chance to 
have learned about the Art of Speaking. 

But speaking is only one form in which the mind 
expresses its thoughts. There are two other accomplish- 
ments, so intimately allied with the Art of Speaking, 
that I could not treat fully and satisfactorily of the one, 
without treating more or less of the others. I propose, 
therefore, to enlarge the main subject, and, embracing 
the allied Arts of Writing, Beading, and Speaking, to 
treat of each separately, but with more particular refer- 
ence to the connection of the Arts of Composition and 
of Eeading with the Art of Speaking. 

And this title, indeed, exactly expresses my design. 
I contemplate nothing more than to convey to you the 
lessons taught to me by personal experience, as well as 
by reading and reflection, relating to the arts which 
enable a man publicly to give utterance to his own 
thoughts and the thoughts of others, so that his 
audience may hearken to him with pleasure and under- 
stand him without difficulty. 

Writing is a necessary part of education for all, and 
Reading ought to be so. Oratory is the business of the 
bar and of the church : it is only the accomplishment of 
other callings. Unless you are content to subside into 
the chamber counsel, or to sit forever briefless in the 



Introductory. 1 1 

courts, you must learn to think aloud, to clothe your 
thoughts in appropriate language, and so to utter them 
that your audience may listen to you willingly. To do 
this is not wholly a gift of nature, though many of 
nature's gifts are needed for its accomplishment. It is 
an art, to be learned by careful study and laborious 
practice. I do not assert that it can be acquired by all 
who may desire its attainment ; on the contrary, it is 
certain that many are by nature disqualified from even 
tolerable proficiency in it. But, if you possess the 
qualifications, mental and physical, requisite for the 
work, it is certain that you may advance to much 
greater proficiency in the art by pursuing it as an ai% 
instead of leaving it, as is the too frequent practice, 
to be developed by accident and cultivated by chance. 

When I was entering, as you are now, upon the study 
of my profession, conscious of the necessity for acquiring 
the art of speaking, I sought anxiously in the libraries 
for a teacher. I found many books professing to eluci- 
date the mysteries of oratory, and each contained some 
hints that were useful, amid much that was useless. 
But none supplied the information I most wanted. 
One was great upon inflections of the voice ; another 
was learned upon logic ; a third discoursed eloquently 
on rhetoric ; a fourth professed to teach the composi- 
tion of a sentence. There was no harm in all this, it is 
true ; it was not wholly worthless ; but it did not sup- 
ply what I required. I wanted to be told what to do, 
Jwiv to do it, and how to learn to do it. After pondering 
over the pages of my many masters, I did not feel 
myself better qualified to stand up and make a speech ; 
on the contrary, I was perplexed by the multitude of 



1 2 Introductory. 

counsellors, and the variety and often the contradictions 
of their advice, and I felt that, if it be necessary that 
I should, while speaking, keep before me one twentieth 
part of the propounded rules, I should have no time to 
think what to say. I turned the key of my door, and 
attempted to put those rules into practice where failure 
would not be ruin, and I found that neither language, 
nor voice, nor gesture, as prescribed in the books, was 
natural and easy, but pedantic, stiff, and ungainly. 
After patient trial, I threw aside the books, and sought 
to acquire the art of speaking by a different process, — by 
writing, to teach facility and correctness of language ; and 
by reading aloud, to teach the art of expressing thoughts. 
Success was, however, but partial. Little practical 
guidance in the arts of writing or of reading could be 
obtained from the books that professed to teach them. 
I had to grope my way to the object, halting and 
stumbling, moving on and trying back, but nevertheless 
making some progress. I learned at least as much 
from failures as from successes, for thus I was taught 
what not to do. Assistance was eagerly sought in every 
quarter whence help could come. I read books and 
listened to lectures; " sat under" eloquent preachers; 
watched famous actors ; frequented public meetings, 
political and religious ; and practised speechifying in a 
small way to worthy and independent electors who were 
too tipsy to be critical. From these I gathered a great 
deal of instruction, not to be found in scientific treatises, 
as to the manner in which a man must talk if he 
would persuade his fellow-men. Subsequent experience 
has much enlarged that knowledge. My profession 
has provided almost daily opportunities for seeing 



Introductory. 13 

and hearing orators of all degrees of power and skill, 
observing audiences of all classes and capacities, and 
noting the treatment of subjects of infinite variety to 
kindle the speaker and attract the hearer. When I was 
a listener, the question was ever present to my raind; 
"How are we, the hearers, affected by this? Are you, 
the speaker, going to work in the right way to effect 
your purpose?" If the speech was a failure, I asked 
myself wherefore it was so? if a success, what was the 
secret of that success? 

My personal experiences have not been large, but they 
have been very valuable as means for making trial of 
hints suggested by the efforts of others, and not less so 
by the proof they have afforded that it is one thing to 
know what ought to be done, and another thing to do it, 

Diligent study of writers and speakers upon the art of 
speaking and the practice of it had taught me a great deal 
of what I ought to do ; but I could achieve only partial 
success in the doing of it. Performance fell very far indeed 
short of knowledge. I made the unpleasing discovery 
that faults which are personal are not removed by mental 
recognition of the right. I felt painfully, from the first, 
that I could not act up to my own intentions, nor put 
into practice that which I was able distinctly to define in 
theoiy. 

I state so much by way of introduction, that you may 
understand wherefore I presume to teach what I confess 
n^self incompetent to practise ; and why, being but 
an indifferent speaker, I venture to treat of the art of 
speaking. Plainly, then, it is in this wise. For many 
years I have devoted much time and thought to the 
subject. By observation, reading, experience, and reilec- 



14 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages 

tion, I have obtained some practical knowledge how the 
art of speaking may be studied and should be practised, 
which, collected, arranged, and set forth as clearly as I 
can, may, perhaps, save yourself and others much of the 
labor that was lost to me for the want of an assistant 
and guide. In a few letters I may possibly be enabled to 
convey to you the fruit of years of unassisted toil ; and, 
although I cannot hold out to you the promise that any 
amount of instruction can, without long and large prac- 
tice, accomplish you as an orator, I am not without hope 
that j^ou may so far profit by my hints as to escape many 
of the difficulties and some of the errors that have beset 
myself, and into which the unguided steps of a learner 
are sure to wander. 

And the same observations apply to the allied arts of 
writing and reading, upon which I also propose to offer 
you some hints. 



better M. 

THE OBJECTS, USES, AND ADVANTAGES OF THE 
ABT OF SPEAKING. 

I must again remind you that the art of speaking is 
the business of the barrister and the clergyman ; it is 
only an accomplishment with other men, but an accom- 
plishment of such incalculable worth, that it might be 
expected to form a necessary part of every scheme of 
education. Strange to say, it is, on the contrary, 
almost wholly neglected, even by those with whom 



of the Art of Speaking. 15 

some skill in it is a part of their profession. It is not 
taught in our schools. Not one man in a hundred of 
those who study for the church or the bar thinks it in- 
cumbent upon him to learn how to write* read, and speak, 
although he will labor sedulously, with the help of the 
best masters, to obtain other needful knowledge. We 
see multitudes industriously setting themselves to learn 
the art of singing : it appears not to be known that the 
arts of writing, reading, and speaking demand equally 
patient study, and equally good instruction, and are 
vastly more useful when they are attained. 

You will be astonished if you attempt to measure the 
extent of the neglect of these arts in England. Read- 
ing is the foundation of speaking. If you read badly, 
you will not speak well. Recall your acquaintances ; how 
many of them can stand up and utter two consecutive 
sentences on the most commonplace subject without 
confusion and stammering? Nay, how many can take 
a book and read a page of it with even an approach 
to propriety? Certainly not one in fifty. This dis- 
creditable gap in English education is universal ; this 
defect in training for the right use of the parts of speech 
is as apparent in the highest as in the lowest. Still more 
strongly is it seen in those whose callings might have 
been supposed to make the study of reading and speak- 
ing a necessary part of their education, — the politician, 
the clergyman, the barrister. Of these, the very business 
is to talk, and to talk so as to persuade. To persuade, 
they must be heard ; and to be heard, they must so talk 
as to please the ears, while informing the minds, of an 
audience. But how few of them are competent to this ! 
How few can read, or speak, otherwise than badly, — 



1 6 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages 

giving pain rather than pleasure to the listener ! And 
why? Because they have not learned to read and speak, 
nor tried to learn ; they have not recognized writing, 
reading, and speaking as accomplishments to be ac- 
quired, — as arts to be studied. 

Take our politicians : go into the House of Commons, 
where you would expect to find all the members, by 
virtue of their calling, more or less competent to con- 
struct a sentence intelligibly and utter it decently. 
There are the picked men chosen by constituencies, as we 
should presume, because they could represent them 
creditably. Yet what miserable speakers are most of 
them ; what nonsense they talk, and how badly they talk 
it ! They want every grace, they exhibit every fault, of 
oratory. It is not merely that great orators are few — 
that mediocrity abounds ; for thus it must be everywhere, 
so long as Providence is pleased to make greatness rare ; 
but they have not attained even to mediocrity. Medio- 
crity is itself an exception ; positive badness is the rule. 

Nor is it better in the pulpit. How few of all our 
preachers can lay claim to the title of orator ! How rare 
is a good reader ! How abundant are the positively bad 
readers ! What public men have such advantages as 
they, in the greatness of their subjects, in their privilege 
to appeal to the loftiest as well as to the profoundest 
emotions of humanity, in the command they have of their 
audience, who must hear, or seem to hear, to the end of 
the discourse ? Yet how rarely do we find these advan- 
tages turned to account ; how few can preach a good 
sermon, truly eloquent in composition and eloquently 
uttered , ana how still more infrequent are they who can 
read with propriety a chapter in the Bible, so as to 



of the Art of Speaking. 17 

convey its meaning in the most impressive form to the 
ear, and through the ear to the mind ! It is plain that, 
as a body, the clergy — and I include those of all denomi- 
nations — do not make the arts of writing, speaking, and 
reading a portion of their course of study. 

The bar is a little, but, I must confess, only a very 
little, better. As with the clerg3 r man, the business of the 
barrister is to talk ; but how many barristers can talk 
even tolerably ? Spend a day in any of our courts ; 
watch well the speakers ; take your pencil and set them 
down in your note-book under the divisions of good, 
tolerable, indifferent, bad ; you will be astonished to find 
how few fall into the first class, how many into the 
others. But you will make the acquaintance with those 
only who have obtained business, some by reason of their 
talking powers, others in spite of inability to make a 
decent speech. These are only a fraction of the whole 
group of wigs before you. It may be assumed that nine- 
tenths of the men who do not open their lips are as in- 
capable of opening them with effect as are their more 
fortunate brethren. It might reasonably be expected 
that men should not betake themselves to a profession, 
whose business it is to talk, without first assuring them- 
selves that they possess the necessary natural qualifica- 
tions, and afterwards dedicating some time to a regular 
study of the accomplishments upon which their fortunes 
depend. The fact that men go to the bar in crowds, 
although wanting the capacities which nature gives, or, 
having the natural gifts, without devoting the slightest 
study to their cultivation, sufficiently proves that the 
professional mind in England is not yet thoroughly 
convinced that speaking is an art, to be cultivated, like 

2 



1 8 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages 

all other arts, the foundation of which must be laid by 
nature, but whose entire superstructure is the work of 
learning and of labor. We should deem it almost an act 
of insanity if a man were to make music or painting his 
profession, without previous study of the art he purposes 
to practise. But the barrister and the clergyman habitu- 
ally commit this folly, and make it their profession to 
write, to read, and to speak, without having first learned 
how to do the one or the other. 

It is not so in America. The art of oratory is univer- 
sally studied and practised there. It is considered to be 
as much a necessary part of the routine of education as 
writing or arithmetic, and infinitely more important than 
music, drawing, or dancing. The consequence is that 
America abounds in orators. I am not setting up 
American oratory as a model, — far from it, — nor do I 
say that so much talk is desirable ; but there is a wide 
difference between their excessive fluency and our ex- 
cessive taciturnity. They sin against good taste often ; 
there is too much indulgence in the mere flowers of 
speech ; but that is better than our English incapacity to 
speak at all. 

What, then, is the meaning of the general neglect in 
this country, as a part of education, of those studies 
which might have been supposed to be the foremost 
pursuit of all whose special business it is to read and 
speak, — especially the clergy, the bar, and the solicitors ? 
If these professions are so negligent, it is not surprising 
that the public, with whom these arts are only accom- 
plishments, should be equally negligent. 

I suspect that the cause of the neglect lies, not so 
much in ignorance of the value of the art when acquired, 



of the Art of Speaking. 19 

as in a strange prejudice, widely prevailing, that to read 
and to speak are natural gifts, not to be implanted, and 
scarcely to be cultivated, by art. In the church, the bad 
readers, being the majority, have sought to deter from 
good reading by calling it theatrical. Among the law- 
yers there is an equally fallacious notion that studied 
speaking must be stilted speaking. I shall have occasion 
to show you hereafter how unfounded are these objections ; 
at present, it suffices merely to notice them, as influential 
sources of the negligence of which I complain. 

Another cause of the neglect of the study of the arts 
of reading and speaking, as arts, will, at the first state- 
ment of it, somewhat surprise you ; but a little experience 
and observation will soon satisfy }^ou of its truth. A bad 
reader is scarcely conscious of his incapacity. So it is 
with a bad speaker, but with the difference that, whereas 
all can read in some fashion, so that the only distinction 
is between bad reading and good reading, many cannot 
speak at all. Consequently, while nobody thinks he 
reads badly, many know that they cannot speak. But of 
this you may be assured, that as no man who reads seeins 
to be conscious that he reads badly, so no man who 
speaks is conscious that he speaks badly. The fact is, 
that we cannot hear and see ourselves. In reading, 
we know what the words of the author are intended to 
express, and we suppose that we express them accord- 
ingly ; so in speaking, we know what we designed to say, 
and we think that we are saying it properly. It is very 
difficult to convince reader or speaker that to other ears 
he is a failure. 

No man imagines that he can sing well, or play well 
upon an instrument, without learning to sing or play, for 



20 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages 

two or three trials prove to him his incapacity ; he i3 
unable to bring out the notes he wants, and he breaks 
down altogether. But every man can read after a 
fashion, and utter a sentence or two, however rudely, and 
therefore his imperfection is not made so apparent to him- 
self ; it is a question only of degree ; being able to read 
and speak, and not being conscious how he reads and 
speaks, he cannot easily be satisfied that he reads and 
speaks badly, and that proficiency must be the work of 
some teaching, much study, and more practice. 

My purpose, in dwelling upon this almost universal 
neglect of the arts of speaking and reading by those 
whose fortunes depend upon the right use of their 
tongues, is to prevent you, if I can, from falling into the 
same fashion, and trusting your success to chance, in the 
fallacious belief that you are following nature. If any 
doubt can linger in your mind whether nature is all- 
sufficient for the purpose of oratory, I need but point 
to the wonderful lack of it, — to the bad reading in the 
pulpit, and the bad speaking at the bar, in Parliament, 
and at public meetings. It is possible that study may 
not remove the reproach, but it is certain that the pres- 
ent system does not succeed in creating or cultivating 
oratory. It will, at least, be w^orth while to attempt 
improvement ; the effort cannot wholly fail, for, if 
nothing more, it will certainly make better readers of 
those who now read so badly. 

The object is worth the effort. Apart from profes- 
sional advantages, the art of speaking is the surest path 
to the gratification of your very laudable ambition to take 
part in the political and social life of your generation. 
In all countries and in all agres the orator has risen to 



of the Art of Speaking. 21 

distinction. But his art is nowhere so potent as in free 
countries, where liberty of speech is the birthright of the 
citizen. Wherever self-government is recognized, there 
must be gatherings for the purpose of transacting public 
business ; men must meet together in their parishes, their 
counties, or by whatever name the subdivisions of their 
country may be known. They could not discuss the 
business of the meeting without some speaking, and 
the most pleasant speaker will assuredly win the ears, 
and, therefore, carry with him the feelings and the votes, 
of those who cannot speak. The same result is seen in 
all assemblies, from the vestry, which is the Parliament 
of the parish, to the House of Commons, which is the 
Parliament of the nation. A man who cannot speak 
is there doomed to insignificance ; a man who can speak 
but badly is still somebody ; the man who speaks toler- 
ably is a man of mark ; the man who speaks well at once 
establishes himself as a chieftain, and he holds in his 
hand the power of the whole assembly. Seeing, then, 
what a valuable accomplishment is the art of speaking, 
— how surely it will lead to power, possibly to greatness, 
certainly to fame, and probably to profit, — the marvel is 
that it is not more cultivated in this country. In truth, 
it can scarcety be said to be cultivated at all. Why is 
this ? Is it that Englishmen are unconscious of its value, 
or that they think it a gift bestowed b} T nature, which 
art cannot produce and can do little to perfect? I 
cannot tell ; but there the fact is. In our homes, in our 
schools, no pains are taken to teach young persons to 
speak, or even to read ; and he who cannot read well 
will not speak well. Parents and guardians cheerfully 
expend large sums for the teaching of music or drawing, 



22 The Foundations of the Arts 

— whether a natural taste for it does or does not exist, — 
accomplishments which only the gifted are likely to turn 
to good account in after life, and for the exercise of which 
there is seldom a demand ; while the arts of reading and 
of speaking — the former daily in request, and the latter 
leading to success in life through many paths — are 
entirely neglected, or, if recognized at all, imperfectly 
taught by a lesson of half an hour in a week, or got up 
for the occasion of a display on those dreary days when 
the school-masters advertise themselves under pretence 
of exhibiting the abilities of their pupils. 



Hetter IM. 

TBE FOUNDATIONS OF THE ABTS OF SPEAKING 
AND WBITJNG. 

The proverb Poeta nascitur, etc., has been extended 
to the orator. It is only partially true as applied to 
either. There is no such thing as a born poet or a born 
orator. No man can write a good poem or make a good 
speech by the mere force of untaught nature ; he must go 
through more or less of training to accomplish either. 
We have heard a great deal of uneducated poets ; but 
this does not mean that they were able to scribble poetry 
when first putting their pens to paper. They were not 
rmeducated poets, but only se(/"-educated poets. If they 
had been trained to no other knowledge or accomplish- 
ment, they had trained themselves industriously to this. 



of Speaking and Writing. 23 

On the other hand, it is no less true that the poet and 
the orator must be endowed by nature with certain 
faculties, wanting which neither could achieve greatness. 
But there is this notable distinction between them, that 
inferiority, or even mediocrity, in a poet renders his ao> 
complishment uninteresting to others, and almost useless 
to himself, whereas very small powers of oratory are 
highly useful to the possessor. Of this you may be as- 
sured, that, whatever the degree of capacity for oratory 
with which you may have been endowed by nature, you 
will never attain to proficiency in it without much 
training. 

Doubtless you have shared the sort of hazy notion 
floating in the public mind, that, if you can only pro- 
nounce the words properly, you can read ; that if you 
have words you can speak ; and that words will come, 
when they are wanted for a speech, as readily as they 
come in a tete-a-tete. I suspect you have formed no 
conception of the number and variety of the qualifications 
essential to good writing, right reading, and effective 
speaking ; how, for reading, the mind must be cultivated 
to understand, the feelings to give expression, the voice 
to utter correctly, the taste to impart tone to the entire 
exercise ; and, for speaking, how the intellect must be 
trained to a rapid flow of ideas, the instantaneous com- 
position of sentences, with the right words in the right 
places wherewith to clothe the thoughts, the voice attuned 
to harmony, and the limbs trained to graceful action, so* 
that the audience may listen with pleasure, while their 
convictions are carried, their feelings touched, and their 
sympathies enlisted. 

I hope you will thoroughly understand that it is not 



24 The Foundations of the Arts 

my purpose, in these letters, to play the part of a pro 
fessor, and teach you to write, read, and speak, but only 
to put you in the way to teach yourself. My design is 
to impress upon you the absolute necessity for a formal 
study of the kindred arts of writing, reading, and 
speaking, if you would attain to such a mastery of 
them as will be required in your profession, and to 
point out to you the paths by which they are to be 
sought. And I must repeat, in my own justification 
for making the attempt, that there is a very great dif- 
ference indeed between knowledge and action. A man 
may well know precisely what should be done, and how 
it should be done, and even be enabled to impart that 
knowledge to others, without being able to do it. That 
is precisely my position. By devoting to the subject a 
great deal of time and thought, I have been enabled 
to learn something of what a writer, a reader, and a 
speaker should do and should not do, what qualifications 
are required for each, and how their arts may be best 
cultivated and attained, but without ability perfectly to 
perform them myself; therefore it is that these letters 
propose nothing more than to convey to you, in a short 
time, the information that it has taken me a very long 
time to collect. 

A perfect speaker would be almost a perfect man, so 
that there never was, and never will be, a perfect orator. 
The best does but approach the standard of ideal excel- 
lence. Such great gifts of mind and body must combine 
to constitute an orator that, when I detail them, you 
will cease to wonder that great orators are so few. I 
will first sketch the mental qualifications ; for these, of 
some of them, are absolutely indispensable, and their 



of Speaking and Writing. 25 

presence will go far to compensate for the absence of 
many physical advantages. 

The foremost care of a speaker is, to have something to 
say; his next is, to say it; and his third is, to sit dozen 
when he has said it. These may appear to you very 
commonplace requirements, and you will probably think 
that I needed not have taken the trouble to write long 
letters to you to tell you this. But in fact, like other 
golden rules, they are more easy to remember than to 
observe. Consult your own experience, and say how 
many of all the speeches you have ever heard, on any 
occasion whatever, gave utterance to thoughts, to ideas, 
to aught that painted a picture on your mind, influenced 
your judgment, or kindled your emotions. Were they 
not mere sounding brass and tinkling cymbals, sentences 
"full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,'' or words 
that scarcely fell at all into sentences, insomuch that, 
when the speaker had concluded, you could not very 
distinctly say what he had been talking about? And 
if this sort of speaker so abounds, how much more fre- 
quent still are they who never know when they have 
done, and how to sit down having said what they desired 
to say ! How many men, who are otherwise really 
respectable speakers, fail in this faculty for sitting down, 
are continually coming to a close, and then beginning 
again, and when you mentally exclaim, " He is certainly 
going to finish now," start off on a new topic, or repeat 
the thrice-told tale, and take a new lease of your ears, to 
the severe trial of your patience ! 

The first qualification for attainment of the arts of 
speaking and writing is, therefore, having something to 
say, — by which I mean, that you must have in your mind 



26 The Foundations of the Arts 

definite thoughts to which you desire to give expression 
in words. Wanting these, it is useless to attempt* to be 
a speaker or writer. Thoughts will not come just when 
you are pleased to call for them. It is necessary that 
you should cultivate a habit of thinking clearly and 
continuously, — of thinking, too, your own thoughts, — and 
you must do this, not by vague fancies, but by trains of 
ideas logically arranged, and by accustoming yourself 
to think a subject through, instead of merely thinking 
vaguely about it. 

For what is a speech but thinking aloud ? You pursue 
a train of thought, and, by putting it into words, you 
seek to conduct the minds of your audience through the 
same train of thought to the same conclusions, and thus 
to make them share your emotions or convictions. To 
this end the aptest thoughts are nothing unless they 
can be expressed in words as apt. This is an art; this 
does not come by nature. Nature contributes something 
to it by certain special capacities with which she favors 
a few, and she sometimes sets a ban upon others by 
positive incapacity to think consecutively, to find words 
readily, or to give them utterance in a pleasing manner. 
But even the most favored by nature require sedulous 
cultivation of their faculties. Thought can only come 
from much observation, much reading, and much reflec- 
tion. Composition — by which I mean the choice of the 
fittest words, and the arrangement of them in the most 
correct and graceful sentences — can be mastered only by 
long study and much practice. Every man who aspires 
to be a speaker must laboriously learn the art of com- 
position, for that is the second stone of the edifice. 

I can give you no instructions for obtaining thoughts ; 



of Speaking and Writing. 27 

they must arise from the natural or acquired activity of 
your mind, gathering ideas from all accessible stores. 
You must keep your eyes and ears ever open to receive 
all kinds of knowledge from all sorts of sources. Your 
information cannot be too diversified. Observation will 
supply the most useful materials ; reading, the most 
various ; reflection, the most profound. But you must 
be something more than a mere recipient of impressions 
from without ; these must be intimately revolved and 
recombined in your hours of reflection, and then they 
may be reproduced in other shapes as your own thoughts. 
Accustom yourself to think, and give yourself time to 
think. There are many portions of the day which can be 
devoted to reflection, without trying to make thought 
a business. If a man tells me that he habitually closes 
his book, or lays down his pen, tarns his face to the 
fire with his feet upon the fender, and throws himself 
back in his easy-chair to think, he may say that he is 
thinking, and perhaps flatter himself with the belief that 
he is thinking ; but we know that he is only dreaming. 
The time for real reflection is when you are taking that 
exercise in the open air, which I trust you never neglect, 
and which is as needful to the accomplishment of a 
speaker as any other training. At such seasons, prepare 
yourself by steady thought for that which is the next 
process in the acquisition of the art. 

And that is, writing. You must habitually place your 
thoughts upon paper, — first, that you may do so rapidly ; 
and, secondly, that you may do so correctly. When you 
come to write your reflections, 3-ou will be surprised to 
find how loose and inaccurate the most vivid of them 
have been, what terrible flaws there are in your best 



28 Arts of Speaking and Writing. 

arguments. You are thus enabled to correct them, 
and to compare the matured sentence with the rude con- 
ception of it. You are thus trained to weigh your words 
and assure yourself that they precisely embody the idea 
you desire to convey. You can trace uncouthness in the 
sentences, and dislocations of thought, of which you had 
not been conscious before. It is far better to learn your 
lesson thus upon paper, which you can throw into the 
fire unknown to any human being, than to be taught it, 
in the presence of the public, by an audience who are 
not always very lenient critics. 



ART OF WRITING, 



o>*o 



%ttttx IF. 

FIB ST LESSONS IN THE ART OF WRITING. 

Diligently practise composition, — that is to say, the 
correct and pleasing expression of your thoughts in 
words. I do not mean that you should begin by 
writing a speech, — that comes at the end of your train- 
ing; but learn first to frame a neat sentence in apt 
language. Indeed, when you have achieved this you are 
almost at the end of your labor. Simple as it seems, 
here lies all the difficulty. Words ; sentences. Who has 
not words? you say. Who does not talk in sentences? 
I answer by another question : Who doesf Try it. You 
are, I believe, unpractised as yet in composition, beyond 
the writing of a love-letter in bad English, or verses in 
worse Latin. Take your pen and set down upon paper 
the first half-dozen reflections that come into your 
mind, — no matter what the subject. Now read what you 
have written. First, examine the words, — do they em- 
body precisely what you intended to say ? Are they fit 
words, expressive words, — in brief, the right words? 
You must confess that they are not. Some are altogether 
wrong ; some are vague, some weak, some out of keeping 

29 



30 First Lessons in the Art of Writing* 

with the subject, some slovenly, some too big, others too 
small ; strong adjectives are used as props to feeble 
nouns ; and do you not see how continually you use three 
words to clothe an idea which would have been far more 
effectively convej^ed in one ? 

Then look at your sentences, — how rude they are, how 
shapeless, how they dislocate the thoughts they are 
designed to embody, how they vex the tongue to speak, 
and grate upon the ear that listens ! There is no music, 
no rhythm, no natural sequence of ideas, scarcely even 
grammatical accuracy. And mark how the sentences 
are thrown together without order, severing the chain 
of thought, this one having little connection with its 
predecessor, and none at all with its successor. 

Are you now satisfied that composition is an art, to 
be learned by labor and self-training, and that it is not 
so easy as talking in a smoking-room, with a short pipe 
to fill up the vacuities in thoughts and words? 

Being assured of this by experiment, you will probably 
feel rather more inclined to make the necessary exertions 
to acquire an art which must be the foundation of your 
ptudies in the art of speaking, and after this manner may 
you proceed with your task. 

Be content, for a time, with writing down the thoughts 
of others, and this for a special purpose that will pres- 
ently be apparent. 

Take a writer of good English — Swift, Addison, 
Dryden, Macaulay, Cobbett, or even leading articles of 
the " Times " (usually models of pure, nervous English) — 
and read half a page twice or thrice ; close the book, 
and write, in your own words, what you have read ; 
borrowing, nevertheless, from the author so much as you 



First Lessons in the Art of Writing. 31 

can remember. Compare what- you have written with 
the original, sentence by sentence, and word by word, 
and observe how far you have fallen short of the skilful 
author. You will thus not onty find out your own faults, 
but you will take the measure of them, and discovei 
where they lie, and how they may be mended. Repeat 
the lesson with the same passages twice or thrice, if youi 
memory is not filled with the words of the author, and 
observe, at each trial, the progress you have made, not 
merely by comparison with the original, but by com- 
parison with the previous exercises. Do this day after 
day, changing your author for the purpose of varying 
the style, and continue to do so long after you have 
passed on to the second and more advanced stages of 
your training. Preserve all your exercises, and oc- 
casionally compare the latest with the earliest, and so 
measure your progress periodically. 

In this first lesson I pray }'ou to give especial atten- 
tion to the icords, which, to 1113" mind, are of greater 
importance than the sentences. Take your nouns first, 
and compare them with the nouns used by your author. 
You will probably find your words to be very much 
bigger than his, more sounding, more far-fetched, more 
classical, or more poetical. All young writers, and 
speakers fanc} r that they cannot sufficient^ revel in fine 
words. Comparison with the great masters of English 
will rebuke this pomposity of inexperience, and chasten 
your aspirations after magniloquence. You will discover, 
to your surprise, that our best writers eschew big words 
and abhor fine words. Where there is a choice, they 
prefer the pure, plain, simple English noun, — the name 
by which the thing is known to all their countrymen, 



32 First Lessons in the Art of Writing. 

and which, therefore, is instantly understood by every 
audience. These great authors call a spade " a spade ; * 
only small scribblers or penny-a-liners term it " an imple- 
ment of husbandry." If there is a choice of names, good 
writers prefer the homeliest, while you select the most 
uncommon, supposing that you have thus avoided vul- 
garity. The example of the masters of the English tongue 
should teach you that commonness (if I may be allowed 
to coin a word to express that for which I can find no 
precise equivalent) and vulgarity are not the same in 
substance. Vulgarity is shown in assumption and af- 
fectation of language quite as much as in dress and 
manners, and it is never vulgar to be natural. Your 
object is to be understood. You will be required to ad- 
dress all sorts and conditions of men ; to be successful, 
you must write and talk in a language that all classes of 
your countrymen can understand ; and such is the natural 
vigor, picturesqueness, and music of our tongue, that you 
could not possess yourself of a more powerful instrument 
for expression. It is well for you to be assured that 
while, by this choice of homely English for the embodying 
of your thoughts, j t ou secure the ears of the common 
people, 3 T ou will at the same time please the most highly 
educated and refined. The words that have won the 
applause of a mob at an election are equally successful 
in securing a hearing in the House of Commons, pro- 
vided that the thoughts expressed and the manner of 
their expression be adapted tq the changed audience. 

Then for the sentences. Look closely at their construc- 
tion, comparing it with that of your author ; I mean, 
note how you have put your words together. The best 
way to do this is to write two or three sentences, from the 



First Lessons in the Art of Writing. 33 

book and interline your own sentences, word by word, 
as nearly as you can, and then you will discover what 
are your faults in the arrangement of } T our words. The 
placing of words is next in importance to the choice of 
them. The best writers preserve the natural order of 
thought. They sedulously shun obscurities and per- 
plexities. They avoid long and involved sentences. 
Their rule is, that one sentence should express one 
thought, and they will not venture on the introduction of 
two or three thoughts, if they can help it. Undoubtedly 
this is often extremely difficult, — sometimes impossible. 
If you want to qualify an assertion, you must do so on the 
instant ; but the rule should never be forgotten, that a 
long and involved sentence is to be avoided, wherever it 
is practicable to do so. 

Another lesson }'Ou will doubtless learn from the 
comparison of your composition with that of your 
model author. You will see a wonderful number of 
adjectives in your own writing, and very few in his. It 
is the besetting sin of young writers to indulge in adjec- 
tives, and precisely as a man gains experience do his 
adjectives diminish in number. It seems to be supposed 
by all unpractised scribblers — and it is a fixed creed 
with the penny-a-lining class — that the multiplication 
of epithets gives force. The nouns are never left to 
speak for themselves. It is curious to take up any 
newspaper and read the paragraphs of news, especially 
if they are clipped from a provincial journal, or supplied 
by a penny-a-liner ; or to open the books of nine-tenths 
of our authors of the third and downward ranks. You 
will rarely see a noun standing alone, without one or 
more adjectives prefixed. Be assured that this is a 
3 



34 First Lessons in the Art of Writing. 

mistake. . An adjective should never be used unless it 
is essential to correct description. As a general rule, 
adjectives add little strength to the noun they are set to 
prop, and a multiplication of them is always enfeebling. 
The vast majority of nouns convey to the mind a much 
more accurate picture of the thing they signify than you 
can possibly paint by attaching epithets to them. A 
river is not improved by being described as " flowing;" 
the sun by being called " the glorious orb of day ; " the 
moon by being styled u gentle ;" or a hero by being 
termed " gallant." Pray you avoid it. 

When you have repeated this lesson many times, and 
find that you can write with some approach to the purity 
of your author, you should attempt an original composi- 
tion. In the beginning, it would be prudent, perhaps, 
to borrow the ideas, but to put them into your own 
language. The difficulty of this consists in the tendency 
of the mind to mistake memory for invention, and thus, 
unconscious^, to copy the language as well as the 
thoughts of the author. The best way to avoid this is 
to translate poetry into prose ; to take, for instance, a 
page of narrative in verse and relate the same story in 
plain prose ; or to peruse a page of didactic poetry, and 
set down the argument in a plain, unpoetical fashion. 
This will make you familiar with the art of composition, 
only to be acquired by practice ; and the advantage, at 
this early stage of your education in the arts of writing 
and speaking, of putting into proper language the 
thoughts for others rather than your own is, that you 
are better able to discover your faults. Your fatherly 
love for your ow r n ideas is such that you are really 
incompetent to form a judgment of their worth, or of 



First Lesso7ts in the Art of Writing. 35 

the correctness of the language in which they are 
embodied. The critics witness this hallucination every 
day. Books continually come to them, written by men 
who are not mad, who probably are sufficiently sensible 
in the ordinary business of life, who see clearly enough 
the faults of other books, who would have laughed aloud 
over the same pages, if placed in their hands by another 
writer, but who, nevertheless, are utterly unable to 
recognize the absurdities of their own handiwork. The 
reader is surprised that any man of common intelligence 
could indite such a maze of nonsense, where the right 
word is never to be found in its right place, and this 
with such utter unconsciousness of incapacity on the 
part of the author. Still more is he amazed that, even 
if a sensible man could so write, a sane man could read 
that composition in print, and not with shame throw it 
into the fire. But the explanation is, that the writer 
knew what he intended to say ; his mind is full of that, 
and he reads from the MS. or the type, not so much 
what is there set down, as what was already floating in 
his own mind. To criticise yourself you must, to some 
extent, forget yourself. This is impracticable to many 
persons, and, lest it may be so with you, I advise you 
to begin by putting the thoughts of others into your own 
language, before you attempt to give formal expression 
to your own thoughts. 



36 Reading and Thinking. 



Letter U* 

BEADING AND THINKING. 

Having accustomed yourself to express, in plain 
words, and in clear, precise, and straightforward sen- 
tences, the ideas of others, you should proceed to express 
your own thoughts in the same fashion. You will now 
see more distinctly the advantage of having first studied 
composition by the process recommended in my last 
letter, for you are in a condition to discover the deficien- 
cies in the flow of your own ideas. You will be surprised 
to find, when you come to put them into words, how 
many of your thoughts were shapeless, hazy, and dreamy, 
slipping from your grasp when you try to seize them, 
resolving themselves, like the witches in Macbeth, 

Into the air: and what seemed corporal melted 
As breath into the wind. 

Arguments that appeared conclusive in contemplation, 
when translated into language, are seen to be absurdly 
illogical ; and brilliant flashes of poetry, that had 
streamed through your imagination in the delightful 
promise of " the all hail hereafter," positively refuse to 
be embodied in words, and disappear the moment you 
attempt to make prisoners of them. 

Thus, after you have learned how to write, you will 
need a long and laborious education before you will learn 
what to write. I cannot much assist you in this part of 
the business. Two words convey the whole lesson,— 



Reading and Thinking. 37 

Read and think. What should you read? Everything. 
What think about? All subjects that present themselves. 
The writer and orator must be a man of very varied 
knowledge. Indeed, for all the purposes of practical 
life, } T ou cannot know too much. No learning is quite 
useless. But a speaker, especially if an advocate, can- 
not anticipate the subjects on which he may be required 
to talk. Law is the least part of his discourse. For once 
that he is called upon to argue a point of law, he is com- 
pelled to treat matters of fact twenty times. And the 
range of topics is encyclopaedic ; it embraces science and 
art, history and philosophy ; above all, the knowledge 
of human nature that teaches how the mind he addresses 
is to be convinced and persuaded, and how a willing ear 
is to be won to his discourse. No limited range of 
reading will suffice for so large a requirement. The 
elements of the sciences must be mastered ; the foundations 
of philosophy must be learned ; the principles of art 
must be acquired ; the broad facts of history must be 
stamped upon the memory ; poetry and fiction must not 
be neglected. You must cultivate frequent and intimate 
intercourse with the genius of all ages and of all coun- 
tries, not merely as standards by which to measure 
your own progress, or as fountains from which you may 
draw unlimited ideas for your own use, but because they 
are peculiarly suggestive. This is the characteristic of 
genius, that, conveying one thought to the reader's mind, 
it kindles in him many other thoughts. The value of this 
to the speaker and writer will be obvious to you. Never, 
therefore, permit a day to pass without reading more or 
less — if it be but a single page — from some one of our 
great writers. Besides the service I have described in 



38 Reading and Thinking. 

the multiplication of your ideas, it will render you the 
scarcely lesser service of preserving purity of style and 
language, and preventing you from falling into the 
conventional affectations and slang of social dialogue. 
For the same reason, without reference to any higher 
motive, but simply to fill your mind with the purest 
English, read daily some portion of the Bible ; for which 
exercise there is another reason also, that its phraseology 
is more familiar to all kinds of audiences than any other, 
is more readily understood, and, therefore, is more efficient 
in securing their attention. 

Your reading will thus consist of three kinds : reading 
for knoivledge, by which I mean the storing of your 
memory with facts ; reading for thoughts, by which I 
mean the ideas and reflections that set your own mind 
thinking ; and reading for words, by which I mean the 
best language in which the best authors have clothed 
their thoughts. And these three classes of reading 
should be pursued together daity, more or less as you 
can, for they are needful each to the others, and neither 
can be neglected without injury to the rest. 

So also you must make it a business to think. You 
will probably say that } T ou are always thinking when 
you are not doing anything, and often when you are 
busiest. True, the mind is active, but wandering vaguely 
from topic to topic. You are not in reallity, thinking 
out anything ; indeed, you cannot be sure that your 
thoughts have a shape until you try to express them in 
words. Nevertheless you. must think before you can 
write or speak, and you should cultivate a habit of think- 
ing at all appropriate seasons. But do not misunderstand 
this suggestion. I do not design advising you to set 



Reading and Thinking. 39 

yourself a-thinking, as you would take up a book to read 
at the intervals of business, or as a part of a course of 
self-training ; for such attempts would probably begin 
with wandering fancies and end in a comfortable nap. 
It is a fact worth noting, that few persons can think 
continuously while the body is at perfect rest. The 
time for thinking is that when you are kept awake by 
some slight and almost mechanical muscular exercise, 
and the mind is not busily attracted by external subjects 
of attention. Thus walking, angling, gardening, and 
other rural pursuits, are pre-eminently the seasons for 
thought, and you should cultivate a habit of thinking 
during those exercises, so needful for health of body and 
for fruitfulness of mind. Then it is that you should 
submit whatever subject you desire to treat about to 
careful review, turning it on all sides, and inside out, 
marshalling the facts connected with it, trying what may 
be said for or against every view of it, recalling what you 
may have read about it, and finally thinking what you 
could sa}' upon it that had not been said before, or how 
you could put old views of it into new shapes. Perhaps 
the best way to accomplish this will be to imagine your- 
self writing upon it, or making a speech upon it, and to 
think what in such case you would say ; I do not mean in 
what words you would express yourself, but what you 
would discourse about ; what ideas you would put forth ; 
to what thoughts you would give utterance. At the 
beginning of this exercise you will find your reflections 
extremely vague and disconnected ; }'ou will range from 
theme to theme, and mere flights of fancy will be sub- 
stituted for stead} 7 , continuous thought. But persevere 
day by day, and that which was in the beginning an 



4<3 Reading and Thinking. 

effort will soon grow into a habit, and you will pass few 
moments of your working life in which, when not oc- 
cupied from without, your mind will not be usefully em- 
ployed within itself. 

Having attained this habit of thinking, let it be a 
rule with you, before you write or speak on any subject, 
to employ your thoughts upon it in the manner I have 
described. Go a-fishing. Take a walk. Weed your 
garden. While so occupied, think. It will be hard if 
your own intelligence cannot suggest to you how the 
subject should be treated, in what order of argument, 
with what illustrations, and with what new aspects of 
it, the original product of your own genius. At all 
events this is certain, that without preliminary reflection 
you cannot hope to deal with any subject to your own 
satisfaction, or to the profit or pleasure of others. If 
you neglect these precautions, you can never be more 
than a wind-bag, uttering words that, however grandly 
they may roll, convey no thoughts. There is hope for ig- 
norance ; there is none for emptiness. 

To sum up the exhortations of this letter. To become 
a writer, or an orator, you must fill your mind with 
knowledge by reading and observation, and educate it 
to the creation of thoughts by cultivating a habit of 
reflection. There is no limit to the knowledge that will 
be desirable and useful ; it should include something 
of natural science, much of history, and still more of 
human nature. The quicquid agunt homines must be 
your study, for it is with these that the speaker has to 
deal. Remember, that no amount of antiquarian, or 
historical, or scientific, or literary lore will make an 
orator, without intimate acquaintance with the ways 



Style. 41 

of the world about him, with the tastes, sentiments, 
passions, emotions, and modes of thought of the men and 
women of the age in which he lives, and whose minds 
it is his business to sway. An orator must be most of 
all a man of the world ; but he must be accomplished 
also with the various acquirements which I have her© 
endeavored briefly to sketch. 



^Letter UI* 

STYLE. 

You must think, that you have thoughts to convey; 
and read, that you may possess words wherewith to 
express your thoughts correctly and gracefully. But 
something more than this is required to qualify you 
to write or speak. You must have a style. I will 
endeavor to explain what I mean by that. 

Style is not art, like language, — it is a gift of nature, 
like the form and the features. It does not lie in words, 
or phrases, or figures of speech ; it cannot be taught by 
any rules ; it is not to be learned by examples. As every 
man has a manner of his own, differing from the manner 
of every other man, so has every mind its own fashion 
of communicating with other minds. The dress in which 
our thoughts clothe themselves is unconsciously moulded 
to the individualities of the mind whence they come. 

This manner of expressing thought is style, and there- 
fore may style be described as the features of the mind 



42 Style. 

displayed in its communications with other minds ; as 
manner is the corporeal feature exhibited in personal 
communication- 

But though style is the gift of nature, it is nevertheless 
to be cultivated ; only in a sense different from that com- 
monly understood by the word cultivation. 

Many elaborate treatises have been written on style, 
and the subject usually occupies a prominent place in all 
books on composition and oratory. It is usual with 
teachers to urge emphatically the importance of cultivat- 
ing style, and to prescribe ingenious recipes for its 
production. All these proceed upon the assumption that 
style is something artificial, capable of being taught, and 
which may and should be learned by the student, like 
spelling or grammar. But, if the definition of stjde 
which I have submitted to you is right, these elaborate 
trainings are a needless labor ; probably a positive mis- 
chief. I do not design to say a style might not be taught 
to you ; but it will be the style of some other man, not 
your own ; and, not being your own, it will no more fit 
your mind than a second-hand suit of clothes, bought 
without measurement at a pawn-shop, would fit your 
body, and your appearance in it will be as ungainly. 
But you must not gather from this that you are not to 
concern yourself about style, that it may be left to take 
care of itself, and that you will require only to write or 
speak as untrained nature prompts. I say that you must 
cultivate st} T le ; but I say also that the style to be culti- 
vated should be your own, and not the style of another. 
The majority of those who have written upon the subject 
recommend you to study the styles of the great writers 
of the English language, with a view to acquiring their 



Style. 43 

accomplishment. So I say, — study them, by all rreans ; 
but not for the purpose of imitation, not with a view to 
acquire their manner, but to learn their language, to 
see how they have embodied their thoughts in words, to 
discover the manifold graces with which they have 
invested the expression of their thoughts, so as to sur- 
round the act of communicating information, or kindling 
emotion, with the various attractions and charms of art. 

J say to you, cultivate style; but, instead of laboring to 
acquire the style of your model, it should be your most 
constant endeavor to avoid it. The greatest danger to 
which you are exposed is that of falling into an imitation 
of the manner of some favorite author, whom you have 
studied for the sake of learning a style which, if you did 
learn it, would be unbecoming to you, because it is not 
your own. That which in him was manner becomes in 
you mannerism; you but dress yourself in his clothes, 
and imagine that }^ou are like him, while you are no more 
like than is the valet to his' master whose cast-off coat he 
is wearing. There are some authors whose manner is so 
infectious that it is extremely difficult not to catch it. 
Johnson is one of these ; it requires an effort not to fall 
into his formula of speech. But your protection against 
this danger must be an ever-present conviction that your 
own style will be the best for you, be it ever so bad or 
good. You must strive to be yourself, to think for your- 
self, to speak in your own manner ; then, what you say 
and your style of sa} T ing it will be in perfect accord, and 
the pleasure of those who read or listen will not be dis- 
turbed by a sense of impropriety and unfitness. 

Nevertheless, I repeat, 3-ou should cultivate your own 
style, not by changing it into some other person's style, 



44 Style. 

but by striving to preserve its individuality, while deco- 
rating it with all the graces of art. Nature gives the 
style, for your style is yourself; but the decorations are 
slowly and laboriously acquired by diligent study, and, 
above all, by long and patient practice. There are but 
two methods of attaining to this accomplishment, — con- 
templation of the best productions of art, and continuous 
toil in the exercise of it. I assume that, by the process 
I have already described, you have acquired a tolerably 
quick flow of ideas, a ready command of words, and 
ability to construct grammatical sentences ; all that now 
remains to you is to learn so to use this knowledge that 
the result may be presented in the most attractive shape 
to those whom you address. I am unable to give you 
many practical hints towards this, because it is not a 
thing to be acquired by formal rules, in a few lessons and 
by a set course of study ; it is the product of very wide 
and long-continued gleanings from a countless variety of 
sources ; but, above all, it is taught by experience. If 
you compare your compositions at intervals of six 
months, you will see the progress you have made. You 
began with a multitude of words, with big nouns and 
bigger adjectives, a perfect firework of epithets, a ten- 
dency to call everything by something else than its proper 
name, and the longer the periphrasis the more you 
admired your own ingenuity, and thought that it must 
be equally admired by your readers. If you had a good 
idea, you were pretty sure to dilute it by expansion, sup- 
posing the while that you were improving by amplifying 
it. You indulged in small flights of poetry (in prose), 
not always in appropriate places, and you were tolerably 
sure to go off into rhapsody, and to mistake fine words 



Style. 45 

for eloquence. This is the juvenile style ; it is not pecu- 
liar to yourself, — it is the common fault of all young wri- 
ters. But the cure for it may be hastened by judicious 
self-treatment. In addition to the study of good authors, 
to cultivate your taste, you may mend your style by a 
process of pruning, after the following fashion. Having 
finished your composition, or a section of it, lay it aside, 
and do not look at it again for a week, during which 
interval other labors will have engaged your thoughts. 
You will then be in a condition to revise it with an 
approach to critical impartiality, and so you will begin to 
learn the wholesome art of blotting. Go through it 
slowly, pen in hand, weighing every word, and asking 
yourself, "What did I intend to say? How can I say it 
in the briefest and plainest English?" Compare with 
the plain answer you return to this question the form in 
which you had tried to express the same meaning in the 
writing before you, and at each word further ask yourself, 
" Does this word precisely convey niy thought? Is it the 
aptest word ? Is it a necessary word ? Would my mean- 
ing be fully expressed without it?" If it is not the best, 
change it for a better. If it is superfluous, ruthlessly 
strike it out. The work will be painful at first, — you will 
sacrifice with a sigh so many flourishes of fanc3 r , so many 
figures of speech, of whose birth you were proud. Nay, 
at the beginning, and for a long time afterwards, your 
courage will fail you, and many a cherished phrase will 
be spared by your relenting pen. But be persistent, and 
you will triumph at last. Be not content with one act of 
expurgation. Read the manuscript again, and, seeing 
how much it is improved, you will be inclined to blot a 
little more. Lay it aside for a month, and then read 



46 Language. 

again, and blot again as before. Nay, for the third time 
let it rest in your desk for six months, and then repeat 
the process. You will be amazed to find how differently 
you look upon it now. The heat of composition having 
passed away, you are surprised that you could have so 
written, mistaking that magniloquence for eloquence, that 
rhapsody for poetry, those many words for much thought, 
those heaped-up epithets for powerful description. 



letter VM. 

LANGUAGE. 

Simplicity is the crowning achievement of judgment 
and good taste in their maturity. It is of very slow 
growth in the greatest minds ; by the multitude it is 
never acquired. The gradual progress towards it can 
be curiously traced in the works of the great masters 
of English composition, wheresoever the injudicious zeal 
of admirers has given to the world the juvenile writings 
which their own better taste had suffered to pass into 
oblivion. Lord Macaulay was an instance of this. Com- 
pare his latest with his earliest compositions, as collected 
in the posthumous volume of his " Remains," and the 
growth of improvement will be manifest. Yet, upon the 
first proposition of it, nothing appears to be more obvious 
to remember, and easy to act upon, than the rule, " Say 
what you want to say in the fewest words that will 
express your meaning clearly ; and let those words be 



Language. 47 

the plainest, the most common (not vulgar), and the 
most intelligible to the greatest number of persons." It 
is certain that a beginner will adopt the very reverse of 
this. He will say what he has to say in the greatest 
number of words he can devise, and those words will be 
the most artificial and uncommon his memory can recall. 
As he advances, he will learn to drop these long phrases 
and big words ; he will gradually contract his language 
to the limit of his thoughts, and he will discover, after 
long experience, that he was never so feeble as when he 
flattered himself that he was most forcible. 

I have dwelt upon this subject with repetitions that 
may be deemed almost wearisome, because affectations 
and conceits are the besetting sin of modern composition, 
and the vice is growing and spreading. The literature 
of our periodicals teems with it ; the magazines are 
infected by it almost as much as the newspapers, which 
have been always famous for it. Instead of an endeavor 
to write plainly, the express purpose of the writers in 
the periodicals is to write as obscurely as possible ; they 
make it a rule never to call anything b} T its proper name, 
never to say anything directly in plain English, never to 
express their true meaning. They delight to say some- 
thing quite different in appearance from that which they 
purpose to say, requiring the reader to translate it, if he 
can, and, if he cannot, leaving him in a state of bewilder- 
ment, or wholly uninformed. 

Worse models you could not find than those presented 
to you by the newspapers and periodicals ; yet are you 
so beset by them that it is extremely difficult not to catch 
the infection. Reading da} r by day compositions teeming 
with bad taste, a^d espeeialty where the cockney style 



48 Language. 

floods you with its conceits and affectations, you uncon- 
sciously fall into the same vile habit, and incessant vigi- 
lance is required to restore you to sound, vigorous, manly ? 
and wholesome English. I cannot recommend to you a 
better plan for counteracting the inevitable mischief than* 
the daily reading of portions of some of our best writers 
of English. A page or two of Dry den, Swift, or Cobbett, 
will operate as an antidote against the poison you cannot 
help absorbing in your necessary intercourse with the 
passing literature of the day. You will soon learn to 
appreciate the power and beauty of those simple sen- 
tences compared with the forcible feebleness of seme, and 
the spasmodic efforts and mountebank contortions of 
others, that meet your eye when you turn over the pages 
of magazine or newspaper. I do not say that you will 
at once become reconciled to plain English, after being 
accustomed to the tinsel and tin trumpets of too many 
modern writers ; but you will gradually come to like it 
more and more ; you will return to it with greater zest 
year by year ; and, having thoroughly learned to love it, 
you will strive to follow the example of the authors who 
have written it. 

And this practice of daily commune more or less with 
one of the great masters of the English tongue should 
never be abandoned. So long as you have occasion to 
write or speak, let it be held by you almost as a duty. 
And here I would suggest that you should read them 
aloud; for there is no doubt that the words, entering at 
once by the eye and the ear, are more sharply impressed 
upon the mind than when perused silently. Moreover, 
when reading aloud you read more slowly ; the full 
meaning of each word must be understood, that you may 



Language. 49 

give the right expression to it, and the ear catches the 
general structure of the sentences more perfectly. Nor 
will this occupy much time. There is no need to devote 
to it more than a few minutes every day. Two or three 
pages thus read daily will suffice to preserve the purity 
of your taste. 

The books that have been written on the subject of 
composition usually set forth a number of rules professing 
to teach the student specifically how he is to write a 
sentence. I confess I have no faith in the virtue of such 
teachings. Many have tried them and found them worse 
than worthless, — much more a hindrance than a help. It 
is impossible to think at once of what to say and the 
rules that are set to you how to say it. In fact, when we 
examine closely these propositions, we discover that they 
are not rules that have been used as guides by their 
authors, or by any other persons, but only principles 
which philosophers assert as governing the operations of 
the mind in the process of composition. In practice we 
do not so write because, according to certain set rules, 
we ought to write thus, but because the mind is so con- 
structed as to express itself to another mind in certain 
forms of speech. These forms have been examined by 
philosophers, and their analysis of the mental operation 
has been turned into a series of rules, which are called 
" grammar." 

Your first care in composition will be, of course, to 
express yourself grammatically. This is partly habit, 
partly teaching. If those with whom a child is brought 
up talk grammatically, he will do likewise, from mere 
imitation ; but he will learn quite as readily anything 
ungrammatical to which his ears may be accustomed ; 



50 Language. 

and, as the .most fortunate of us mingle in childhood with 
servants and other persons not always observant of num- 
ber, gender, mood, and tense, and as even they who have 
enjoyed the best education lapse, in familiar talk, into 
occasional defiance of grammar, which could not be 
avoided without pedantry, you will find the study of 
grammar necessary to you under any circumstances. 
Your ear will teach you a great deal, and you may 
usually trust to it as a guide ; but sometimes occasions 
arise when you are puzzled to determine which is the 
correct form of expression, and in such cases there is 
safety only in reference to the rule. 

I would gladly assume that you learned at school all 
that you have need to know of grammar ; but experience 
forbids. I remember how little attention was paid to the 
teaching of English grammar in the public and classical 
schools of mj' own boyhood ; and, although some improve- 
ment has been made since, I fear that it would not be 
safe to enter upon the study of composition without at 
least refreshing }^our memory with the rules of grammar. 
If you ask me what grammar you ought to study, I must 
admit my inability to give 3^011 a satisfactory answer. I 
have never seen an English grammar that quite came up 
to the conception of what such a book should be. All 
the popular ones are too dogmatical and not enough 
explanatory. They appear to have been written by men 
who had forgotten the process by which they had acquired 
their own knowledge, and who taught from their own 
advanced position, instead of taking the student's point 
of view and starting with Mm. Rules ought to be accom- 
panied with the reasons for them, and those reasons 
should not be stated in the language of the learned, but 



Woi'ds — Sentences — Rhythm. 5 1 

in the words used by the unlearned world ; and the ideas 
they convey should not be those which assume that the 
listener knows a great deal, but such as would be ad- 
dressed to a mind presumed to know very little indeed of 
the subject. The best with which I am acquainted (and 
it approaches very nearly to the ideal of such a work) is 
that by "William Cobbett. I do not know even if it can 
now be procured ; but if you can find a copy at any book- 
stall, buy and read it. Xot only does it present its 
information in a singularly intelligible form, but it will 
amuse and fix your attention by the quaintness of some 
of its illustrations. For instance, the author, who was 
an avowed republican, — for he did not live to see democ- 
racy setting up despotism in France, and republicanism 
rushing into civil war in America, — takes his illustrations 
of grammatical errors from the royal speeches to Parlia- 
ment. But, if you should not like his manner of teach- 
ing, 3 t ou will assuredly profit by the perusal of his simple 
but vigorous English, and it will be in itself a valuable 
lesson to accustom your ears to our homely but express- 
ive Saxon, unpolluted hx the affectations with which it is 
too much the fashion of our day to deform the glorious 
instrument of thought that our fathers have transmitted 
to us. 



%ttttx UIHE. 

WOBDS — SENTENCES — BHYTHM. 

When I recommend the study of grammar, I do not 
design that you should adhere pedantically to its rules. 



5 2 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 

It is, indeed, necessary that you should know those 
rules, and the reasons for them, and how a sentence is 
to be grammatically constructed. But some latitude of 
discretion may be permitted in the application of those 
rules. Your good taste will, after a little experience, 
show you where they may be relaxed, and even, upon 
occasions, departed from. Certain it is that, if }^ou were 
to compose an essay in strict compliance with the rules 
propounded by the grammarians, it would be painfully 
stiff and ungainly. On the other hand, in fear of a 
pedantic style you must be careful not to fall into the 
opposite extreme of slovenliness and incorrectness. It 
is not necessary that you should alwa}^s write precisely 
according to rule, but never must you write what is posi- 
tively ungrammatical. Between these extremes there lies 
a wide debatable land, recognized by custom, in which 
you may venture to turn out of the regular path, in a 
manner which a pedagogue will tell you, and prove by 
reference to the rules, to be wrong, but for which you 
may assert the privilege of practice. I cannot supply 
you with any tests whereby you may be guided in your 
acceptance of these conventionalisms. It is entirely a 
matter of taste, and the - cultivation of the taste is the 
only means by which you can hope to write at once cor- 
rectly and freely, not sinning against grammar, but also 
not a slave to it. 

So it is with the structure of your sentences. You 
will find in the books many elaborate rules for composi- 
tion. I do not say of them that they are wrong. I 
have no doubt that they are strictly true, as abstract 
propositions ; but I venture to assert that they are 
practically worthless. No man ever yet learned from 



Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 5 3 

them how to write a single sentence. No man keeps 
them in his mind while he is writing. No man delib- 
erately observes them so far as to say, " I express myself 
thus, because rule the fourth tells me that I am to do so 
and so." 

After you have written, it is not uninteresting 
nor uninstructive to compare your composition with the 
rules, and see how far you have adhered to them, or how 
widely diverged from them, tracing the reasons for the 
structure of the sentences you have actually adopted. 
This is a useful exercise for the mind ; it confirms your 
confidence in what you do well, and perhaps reveals to 
you some errors, and shows you how they are to be 
amended. But this is all. Your sentences will certainly 
shape themselves after the structure of your own mind. 
If your thoughts are vivid and definite, so will be your 
language ; if dreamy and hazy, so will your composition 
be obscure. Your speech, whether oral or written, can 
be but the expression of yourself ; and what you are, that 
speech will be. 

Remember, then, that you cannot materially change 
the substantial character of your writing ; but you may 
much improve the form of it by the observance of two 
or three general rules. 

In the first place, be sure you have something to say. 
This may appear to you a very unnecessary precaution ; 
for who, you will ask, having nothing to say, desires to 
write or to speak? I do not doubt that you have often 
felt as if your brain was teeming with thoughts too big 
for words ; but when you came to seize them, for the 
purpose of putting them into words, }'ou have found 
them evading your grasp and melting into the air. They 



54 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 

were not thoughts at all, but fancies, — shadows which you 
had mistaken for substances, and whose vagueness you 
would never have detected, had you not sought to em- 
body them in language. Hence it is that you will need 
to be assured that you have thoughts to. express, before 
you try to express them. 

And how to do this ? By asking yourself, when you 
take up the pen, what it is you intend to say, and 
answering yourself as you best can, without caring for 
the form of expression. If it is only a vague and 
mystical idea, conceived in cloudlancl, you will try in 
vain to put it into any form of words, however rude. 
If, however, it is a definite thought, proceed at once to 
set it down in words and fix it upon paper. 

The expression of a precise and definite thought is not 
difficult. Words will follow the thought ; indeed, they 
usually accompany it, because it is almost impossible to 
think unless the thought is clothed in words. So closely 
are ideas and language linked by habit, that very few 
minds are capable of contemplating them apart, inso- 
much that it may be safely asserted of all intellects, save 
the highest, that if they are unable to express their 
ideas, it is because the ideas are incapable of expression, 
— because they are vague and hazy. For the present 
purpose it will suffice that you put upon paper the sub- 
stance of what you desire to say, in terms as rude as you 
please, the object being simply to measure your thoughts. 
If you cannot express them, do not attribute your failure 
to the weakness of language, but to the dreaminess of 
your ideas, and therefore banish them without mercy, and 
direct your mind to some more definite object for its 
contemplations. If you succeed in putting your ideas 



Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 55 

into words, be they ever so rude, you will have learned 
the first, the most difficult, and the most important lesson 
in the art of writing. The second is far easier. Having 
thoughts, and having embodied those thoughts in unpol- 
ished phrase, your next task will be to present them in 
the most attractive form. To secure the attention of 
those to whom you desire to communicate your thoughts, 
it is not enough that you utter them in any words that 
come uppermost; you must express them in the best 
words, and in the most graceful sentences, so that they 
may be read with pleasure, or at least without offending 
the taste. 

Your first care in the choice of words will be that they 
shall express precisely 3^our meaning. Words are used 
so loosely in society that the same word will often be 
found to convey half a dozen different ideas to as many 
auditors. Even where there is not a conflict of meanings 
in the same word, there is usually a choice of words 
having meanings sufficiently alike to be used indiscrimi- 
nately, without subjecting the user to a charge of positive 
error. But the cultivated taste is shown in the selection 
of such as express the most delicate shades of difference. 
Therefore, it is not enough to have abundance of words ; 
you must learn the precise meaning of each word, and in 
what it differs from other words supposed to be synony- 
mous ; and then you must select that which most exactly 
conveys the thought you are seeking to embody. I will 
not pretend to give you rules for this purpose ; I am ac- 
quainted with none that are of much practical value. 
Some of the books profess to teach the pupil how to 
choose his words; but, having tried these teachings, I 
found them worthless ; and others who have done the 



5 6 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 

like have experienced the same unsatisfactory result 
There is but one way to fill your mind with words, and 
that is, to read the best authors, and to acquire an accu- 
rate knowledge of the precise meaning of their words, — 
by parsing as you read. 

By the practice of parsing, I intend very nearly the 
process so called at schools, only limiting the exercise to 
the definitions of the principal words. As thus : take, 
for instance, the sentence that immediately precedes this, 
— ask yourself what is the meaning of u practice," of 
" parsing," of " process," and such like. Write the 
answer to each, that you may be assured that your 
definition is distinct. Compare it with the definitions 
of the same word in the dictionaries, and observe the 
various senses in which it has been used. You will thus 
learn also the words that have the same, or nearly the 
same, meaning, — a large vocabulary of which is necessary 
to composition, for frequent repetition of the same word, 
especially in the same sentence, is an inelegance, if not 
a positive error. Compare your definition with that of 
the lexicographer, and your use of the word with the 
uses of it by the authorities cited in the dictionary, and 
you will thus measure your own progress in the science 
of words. This useful exercise may be made extremely 
amusing as well as instructive, if friends, having a like 
desire for self-improvement, will join you in the practice 
of it ; and I can assure you that an evening will be thus 
spent pleasantly as well as profitably. You may make 
a merry game of it, — a game of speculation. Given a 
word : each one of the company in turn writes his defini- 
tion of it ; Webster's Dictionary is then referred to, and 
that which comes nearest the authentic definition wins 



Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 5 7 

the honor or the prize ; it may be a sweepstakes carried 
off by him whose definition hits the mark the most 
nearl}\ But, whether in company, or alone, you should 
not omit the frequent practice of this exercise, for none 
will impart such a power of accurate expression and sup- 
ply such an abundance of apt words wherein to embody 
the delicate hues and various shadings of thought. 

So with sentences, or the combinations of words. Much 
skill is required for their construction. They must con- 
vey your meaning accurately, and as far as possible in 
the natural order of thought, and yet they must not be 
complex, involved, verbose, stiff, Ungainly, or tautologi- 
cal. They must be brief, but not curt ; explicit, but not 
verbose. Here, again, good taste must be your guide, 
rather than rules which teachers propound, but which the 
pupil never follows. In truth, there is no rule for writing 
sentences. It is easy to say what may not be done, what 
are the besetting faults, and perhaps to offer some hints 
for their avoidance. But there are no rules by observing 
which you can write well ; for not onl\ r does every style 
require its own construction of a sentence, but almost 
every combination of thought will demand a different 
shape in the sentence by which it is conveyed. A stand- 
ard sentence, like a standard style, is a pedantic absurd 
ity ; and, if you would avoid it, you must not try to 
write by rule, though you may refer to rules in order to 
find out your faults after you have written. 

Lastty, inasmuch as your design is, not only to influ- 
ence but to please, it will be necessary for you to culti- 
vate what may be termed the graces of composition. It 
is not enough that you instruct the minds of your read- 
ers, you must gratify their taste, and win their attention, 



5 8 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 

giving pleasure in the very process of imparting informa- 
tion. Hence you must make choice of words that convey 
no coarse meanings, and excite no disagreeable associa- 
tions. You are not to sacrifice expression to elegance ; 
but so, likewise, you are not to be content with a word or 
a sentence, if it is offensive or unpleasing, merely because 
it best expresses your meaning. The precise boundary 
between refinement and rudeness cannot be defined ; 
your own cultivated taste must tell you the point at which 
power or explicitness is to be preferred to clelicacj\ One 
more caution I would impress upon you, that you pause 
and give careful consideration to it before you permit a 
coarse expression, on account of its correctness, to pass 
your critical review when you revise your manuscript, 
and again when you read the proof, if ever you rush into 
print. 

And much might be said also about the music of 
speech. Your words and sentences must be musical. 
They must not come harshly from the tongue, if uttered, 
or grate upon the ear, if heard. There is a rhythm in 
words which should be observed in all composition, 
written or oral. The perception of it is a natural gift, 
but it may be much cultivated and improved by reading 
the works of the great masters of English, especially of 
the best poets, — the most excellent of all in this wonder- 
ful melody of words being Alfred Tennyson. Perusal 
of his works will show you what you should strive to 
attain in this respect, even though it may not enable you 
fully to accomplish the object of your endeavor. 



T*he Art of Writing. 59 



letter !£♦ 

THE ART OF WRITING* 

The faculty for writing varies in various persons. 
Some write easily, some laboriously ; words flow from 
some pens without effort, others produce them slowly ; 
composition seems to come naturall} 7 to a few, and a few 
never can learn it, toil after it as they may. But what- 
ever the natural power, of this be certain, that good writ- 
ing cannot be accomplished without much study and long 
practice. Facility is far from being a proof of excellence. 
Many of the finest works, in our language were written 
slowly and painfully ; the words changed again and 
again, and the structure of the sentences carefully cast 
and recast. There is a fatal facility that runs " in one 
weak, washy, everlasting flood, " that is more hopeless 
than any slowness or slovenliness. If you find your pen 
galloping over the paper, take it as a warning of a fault 
to be shunned ; stay your hand, pause, reflect, read what 
you have written, see what are the thoughts }'ou have set 
clown, and resolutely try to condense them. There is no 
more wearisome process than to write the same thing 
over again ; nevertheless it is a most efficient teaching. 
Your endeavor should be to say the same things, but to 
say them in a different form ; to condense your thoughts, 
and express them in fewer words. Compare this second 
effort with the first, and you will at once measure your 
improvement. You cannot now do better than repeat 
the lesson twice ; rewrite, still bearing steadily in mind 
your object, which is, to say what you desire to utter in 



6o The Art of Writing. 

words the most apt and in the briefest form consistent 
with intelligibility and grace. Having done this, take 
your last copy and strike out pitilessly every superfluous 
word, substitute a vigorous or expressive word for a 
weak one, sacrifice the adjectives without remorse, and, 
when this work is clone, rewrite the whole, as amended. 

And, if } t ou would see what you have gained by this 
laborious but effective process, compare the completed 
essay with the first draft of it, and you will recognize the 
superiority of careful composition over facile scribbling. 
You will be fortunate if you thus acquire a mastery of 
condensation, and can succeed in putting reins upon that 
fatal facility of words, before it has grown into an uncon- 
querable habit. 

Simplicity is the charm of writing, as of speech ; there- 
fore, cultivate it with care. It is not the natural manner 
of expression, or, at least, there grows with great rapid- 
ity in all of us a tendency to an ornamental style of talk- 
ing and writing. As soon as the child emerges from the 
imperfect phraseology of his first letters to papa, he sets 
himself earnestly to the task of trying to disguise what he 
has to say in some other words than such as plainly ex- 
press his meaning and nothing more. To him it seems 
an object of ambition — a feat to be proud of — to go by 
the most indirect paths, instead of the straight way, and 
it is a triumph to give the person he addresses the task of 
interpreting his language, to find the true meaning lying 
under the apparent meaning. Circumlocution is not the 
invention of refinement and civilization, but the vice of 
the uncultivated ; it prevails the most with the young in 
years and in minds that never attain maturity. It is a 
characteristic of the savage. You cannot too much school 



The Art of Writing. 61 

3 T ourself to avoid this tendency, if it has not already 
seized you, as is most probable, or to banish it, if infected 
by it. If you have any doubt of your condition in this 
respect, your better course will be to consult some judi- 
cious friend, conscious of the evil and competent to criti- 
cism. Submit to him some of your compositions, asking 
him to tell you candidly what are their faults, and espe- 
cially what are the circumlocutions in them, and how the 
same thought might have been better, because more simply 
and plainly, expressed. Having studied his corrections, 
rewrite the article, striving to avoid those faults. Sub- 
mit this again to your friendly censor, and, if many faults 
are found still to linger, apply yourself to the labor of 
repetition once more. Repeat this process with new 
writings, until you produce them in a shape that requires 
fewblottings, and, having thus learned what to shun, you 
may venture on self-reliance. 

But, even when parted from your friendly critic, you 
should continue to be your own critic, revising every sen- 
tence, with resolute purpose to strike out all superfluous 
words and to substitute an expressive word for every fine 
word. You will hesitate to blot many a pet phrase, of 
whose invention you felt proud at the moment of its 
birth ; but, if it is circumlocution, pass the pen through it 
ruthlessly, and hy degrees } T ou will train yourself to the 
crowning victory of art, — simplicity. 

If you cannot find such a friendly critic, and the fit are 
few, you may achieve the object by your own effort, 
though less speedily and perfectly. Take one of our 
writers of the purest English ; read a page ; write his 
thoughts in your own words ; compare your composition 
with his, mark line by line the differences, correct your 



62 The Art of Writing. 

writing from his text, then repeat the task, bearing in 
memory the faults you had committed before and striving 
to avoid them ; this exercise often repeated will tutor you 
to write well ; but it is more laborious than learning from 
a teacher, and will demand a large measure of patience 
and perseverance. 

When you are writing on any subject, address yourself 
to it directly. Come to the point as speedily as possible, 
and do not walk round and about it, as if you were re- 
luctant to grapple with it. There is so much to be read 
nowadays that it is the duty of all who write to con- 
dense their thoughts and words. This cannot always be 
done in speaking, where slow minds must follow your 
faster lips ; but it is alwaj^s practicable in writing, where 
the reader may move slowly, or repeat what he has not 
understood on the first passing of the eye over the words. 

In constructing your sentences, marshal the words in 
the order of thought, — that is the natural, and therefore 
the most intelligible shape for language to assume. In 
conversation we do this instinctively, but in writing the 
rule is almost always set at defiance. The man who 
would tell you a story in a plain, straightforward way 
could not write it without falling into utter confusion and 
placing almost every word' precisely where it ought not 
to be. In learning to write, then, let this be your next 
care. Probably it will demand much toil at first in re- 
writing for the sake of redistributing your words ; ac- 
quired habit of long standing will unconsciously mould 
your sentences to the accustomed shape ; but persevere, 
and you will certainly succeed at last, and your words 
will express your thoughts precisely as you think them, 
and as you desire that they should be impressed upon the 



The Art of Writing. 63 

minds of those to whom they are addressed. So with the 
sentences. Let each be complete in itself, embodying 
one proposition. Shun that tangled skein in which some 
writers involve themselves, to the perplexity of their 
readers and their own manifest bewilderment. When you 
find a sentence falling into such a maze, halt and retrace 
your steps. Cancel what you have done, and reflect what 
you design to say. Set clearly before your mind the 
ideas that you had begun to mingle ; disentangle them, 
range them in orderly array, and so express them in dis- 
tinct sentences, where each will stand separate, but in its 
right relationship to all the rest. This exercise will im- 
prove > not onty your skill in the art of writing, but also 
in the art of thinking, for those involved sentences are 
almost always the result of confused thoughts ; the resolve 
to write clearly will compel you to think clearly, and you 
will be surprised to discover how often thoughts, which 
had appeared to you definite in contemplation, are found 
when you come to set them upon paper, to be most in- 
complete and shadowy. 

These hints will, perhaps, suffice to give you aid in the 
art of writing, so far as it is a necessary introduction to 
the art of speaking, and that is all that I purpose to at- 
tempt in these letters. 



ART OF READING, 



ILetUr X. 

BEADING. 

Turn now to the art of reading; for that also is a 
necessary introduction to the art of speaking. To be 
a successful speaker you must have something to say ; 
you must be able to clothe what you desire to say in the 
best language ; and you must give utterance to that lan- 
guage in such fashion as to win and hold the ears of your 
audience. Books and reflection will supply thoughts ; 
composition will enable } r ou to put those thoughts into 
words ; reading will teach you to express those words 
rightly. If you do these things well, you will be a great 
orator ; but it is not essential to success in speaking that 
you should attain proficiency in each of these acquire- 
ments. Many public speakers of high reputation fail in 
one or more of the accomplishments required by a great 
orator ; but this is a defect in them, to be avoided so far as 
you can, — not a manner specially to be imitated. Be- 
cause one distinguished man hesitates in his speech, 
another is ungainly in action, a third does not frame a 
complete sentence, and a fourth is at a loss for words, 

64 



The Art of Reading. 65 

you are not to deem yourself exempt from endeavors to 
avoid the faults into which they have fallen. They are 
not the less faults, — not the less to be shunned. If you 
desire success, you must consent to learn what to do and 
what to shun, and strive earnestly to put in practice what 
you have so learned. 

It is true that many persons speak well who read 
badly, and good reading is not necessarily allied with 
good speaking ; but I confidently assert that the two arts 
are so nearly connected that the surest way to learn to 
speak is to learn to read. But it is not alone as a path- 
way to speaking that I earnestly exhort you to the study 
of reading. It is an accomplishment to be sought for its 
own sake. It has incalculable uses and advantages, apart 
from its introduction to oratory. Tolerable readers are 
few ; good readers are extremely rare. Not one educated 
man in ten can read a paragraph in a newspaper with so 
much propriety that to listen to him is a pleasure and not 
a pain. Nine persons out of ten are unable so to express 
the words as to convey their meaning ; they pervert the 
sense of the sentence by emphasizing in the wrong place, 
or deprive it of all sense by a monotonous gabble, giving 
no emphasis to any word they utter ; they neglect the 
w stops," as they are called ; they make harsh music with 
their voices ; they hiss, or croak, or splutter, or mutter, 
— everything but speak the words set down for them 
as they would have talked them to you out of book. 
Why should this be? Why should correct reading be 
rare, pleasant reading rarer still, and good reading found 
only in one man in ten thousand ? The enthusiastic ad- 
vocates for popular music assert that every man who can 
speak can sing, if he would only learn the art of singing, 

5 



66 The Art of Reading. 

If this be true of singing, much more is it true of read- 
ing. It is quite certain that every man, woman, and 
child, who can talk, may read, if resolute to learn to 
read, and, not content to read anyhow, look upon read- 
ing as an accomplishment. I do not say that every per- 
son who* labors to acquire the art will be enabled to read 
well; to this certain natural qualifications are requisite, 
which are not given to all in the same proportions, and to 
some are denied altogether ; and others may be impeded 
by the presence of defects that may be relieved, though 
not quite cured. But it is in the power of every person, 
not having some natural deformity, such as a stammer, to 
learn to read correctly, so that his hearers may under- 
stand what he reads, and pleasantly enough not to vex 
their ears or otfend their tastes. If you can but attain to 
this, it is an acquirement that will be of great service in 
life ; it will spare you many unpleasant sensations of 
conscious awkwardness when you are compelled to read 
aloud to others. Few private persons can altogether 
escape this demand upon them ; but a professional man 
cannot hope to do so. His business will certainly make 
continual calls upon his lips. A barrister, above all men, 
next to a clergyman, needs to read well, because he is 
daily required to read. A solicitor may hope to escape 
by shunning the practice that requires his appearance in 
the courts ; but in vain. In his office he must sometimes 
read to his clients. If they excuse him, the public will 
not. A solicitor, especially in a provincial town, is 
looked upon as public property. He is expected, by 
virtue of his profession as a lawyer, to be the mouth-piece 
of the public of his locality ; he is pressed into the service 
in all public affairs, thrust into the chair at public meet- 



The Art of Reading. * 67 

mgs, or enlisted as honorary secretary for societies, and 
required to read " the annual report" at the annual meet* 
ing : or resolutions are forced into his hands to be moved 
or seconded, or at elections he must speechify to the 
" worthy and independent " electors ; or he is made the 
mayor, and called upon to read addresses to great per- 
sonages, or to submit no end of reports and corre- 
spondence to the town council on matters of local impor- 
tance. Every lawyer ought undoubtedly to learn to read, 
which branch of the profession soever he may choose to 
practise, and whether he does or does not aspire to be a 
speaker. 

My purpose now is to submit to you some hints for 
acquiring the art of reading. 

The requirements of a reader are twofold : first, to 
express rigidly what he reads ; and, secondly, to do this 
pleasantly. 

First, of reading rightly. By this I mean correct 
reading. That is to say, expressing fully and truly the 
author's meaning, — saying for him what he designed to 
say, and so transmitting to the mind of the listener the 
ideas which the author desired to impart. To compre- 
hend fully what } T ou ought to do when you undertake to 
read a book aloud, you should suppose that the thoughts 
you are going to utter are your own, coming from your 
own mind, and ask yourself how, if they had been your 
thoughts, and you had spoken them instead of writing 
them, you would have expressed them. 

This is the grand rule for. reading. The foundation of 
good reading is the perfect understanding of what you 
read. Without this you will never be a reader, whatever 
other qualifications you ma} T possess. Strive, then, above 



68 The Art of Reading. 

all, and first of all, after this, and the rest will probably 
follow. It is one of the many benefits of learning to 
read, that you must also learn what you read. Until 
you have tried it, you cannot conceive the mighty differ- 
ence there is in the knowledge you acquire of an author 
when you read him aloud and when you only peruse 
him silently. In the former case you must grasp every 
thought, ever}^ word, in all its significance ; in the latter, 
you are apt to pass over much of information or of 
beauty, through inattention or impatience for the stoiy. 
Of our greatest writers — the men of genius — it may be 
asserted that you cannot know them fully or appreciate 
them rightly until you have read them aloud. If you 
doubt this, make trial with a play of Shakespeare ; and, 
however often you may have perused it silently, however 
perfectly you may imagine yourself to be acquainted with 
it, when you read it aloud you will find infinite subtilties 
of the poet's genius which you had never discovered 
before. 

I can proffer to you no rules for learning to understand 
what you read. The faculty is a natural gift, var}ing in 
degree with the other intellectual powers. But every 
person of sound mind is .capable of comprehending the 
meaning of a writer who expresses himself clearly in 
plain language. Learned works can be understood only 
by learned men ; but there are none who cannot appreciate 
a pictorial narrative ; few who cannot enjoy a sensible re- 
flection, a truthful sentiment, a poetical thought, a grace- 
ful style. To become a reader, however, you must 
advance a little beyond this. You must be enabled 
instantly to perceive these features, for you will be re- 
quired to give expression to them on the instant. As 



The Art of Reading. 69 

fast as your eye falls upon the words should the intelli- 
gence they are designed to convey flash through your 
mind. You cannot pause to reflect on the author's mean- 
ing, — your hesitation would be seen and felt, ^ow this 
rapidity of perception is mainly a matter of habit. It 
can come only from so much practice that the words 
suggest the thought at the moment they -are pre- 
sented. In this the studies previously recommended for 
the acquirement of the art of writing will very much 
assist you. 

At the beginning of your exercises, if you do not 
already possess that rapidity of perception of an author's 
meaning, } T ou should practise yourself by reading silently 
and slowly two or three pages of some book by some 
writer of genius, pausing at the end of each sentence to 
ask yourself what the author designed to sa}\ Be not 
content with some general answer, but assure yourself 
that £OU really comprehend him clearly, by putting the 
thought into other words. This is a troublesome process ; 
but it is very successful, and the labor at the beginning is 
saved at the end ; for 3-011 will learn your lesson in a 
shorter time. I would even recommend that you perform 
this exercise in writing ; for then }T>u cannot escape in 
vagueness of idea, as when you trust to thought only. But 
whether } r ou do or do not submit to that laborious task, 
you must read often and in silence before you begin to 
read the same pages aloud. 

Having, as you suppose, thus tolerably mastered the 
meaning of the written pages, you may proceed to read 
them aloud. This process is of itself a monitor ; for, if 
you have not found the meaning, you will be conscious 
of awkwardness in your manner of reading. Failing in 



70 The Art of Reading. 

the first attempt, try again, and again, and again, until 
you are enabled to express the thoughts as fast as the 
words are presented to your eye. 

By such exercises as these, you will be assisted in the 
attainment of the first and most important qualification 
for a reader, — the clear comprehension of the writer's 
meaning, seized at the very moment that his words are 
presented to your mind through the eye. 



better X3L 

THE ABT OF BEADING—WHAT TO AVOID — 

' ARTICULATION. 

If you rightly understand what you read, you will 
express it rightly. But it is also necessary to under- 
stand it readily, so as to read readily as well as rightly* 
Herein is the difference between reading aloud and read- 
ing silently. When you read silently, you can pause to 
ponder upon the meaning intended to be conveyed by the 
writer, and you should search for it till you have found 
it, and for that purpose you may try back and reperuse 
the sentence or the page as often as may be necessary. 
When reading aloud, you have no such liberty for pause, 
reflection, and repetition. You must proceed, right or 
wrong, understanding or misunderstanding. The mean- 
ing of what you are to read must be caught at the instant 
your eye falls upon the words, or there will be hesitation 



What to Avoid — Articulation. 71 

in j-our speech, very perceptible to }~our audience, and 
very disagreeable. Practice alone will enable you to 
attain this rapid apprehension of the thoughts conveyed 
in the words. It cannot be taught ; there are no rules 
for it, — practice is the only path to its acquirement. 

Having learned to express rightly and readily th6 
thoughts which the writer whose language you are read- 
ing designed to convey, you have laid broadly and 
strongly the foundations for success in the art of reading. 
But it is the foundation only of the art ; all the ornament 
is to come. It is not enough to read rightly ; you must 
read pleasantly as well as correctly, so that your hearers 
may not only be enabled to understand, but induced to 
listen. A dull, monotonous reader will not win the ear, 
however faultless his rendering of the sense of what he 
reads. Your reading will not be profitable to others, 
Tinless it is also pleasant to them. I proceed to give you 
some hints how to make it so. 

First, I must tell you what you ought not to do. 
Shun equally mannerism and monotony. Do not, at the 
moment you open the book to read aloud, change your 
tone and style of speaking, as is the evil habit of so 
many persons. The term " many," indeed, scarcely 
expresses the universality of this fault. The exceptions 
are extremely rare. Nineteen persons out of twenty 
read in a tone and with a manner altogether different 
from those in which they would have uttered the same 
sentences out of book. It is a bad habit, probably 
acquired from bad teaching in childhood, which they 
do not shake off in after years, because they have not 
practised reading or sought to attain something of it as 
an art. It is curious to note how a sentence, spoken at 



72 The Art of Reading. 

one moment in the most natural, and therefore truthful 
and expressive, manner, is followed instantly by a sen- 
tence read from a book with tone and manner entirely 
different, either stilted and affected or inexpressive and 
stupid, but thoroughly unnatural and artificial; and* 
then, if the book be closed, without the pause of a 
moment, the talk will be resumed in the same easy 
strain as before. This is the first defect to be re- 
moved. Before you can hope to read well, you must 
thoroughly emancipate yourself from this bad habit of 
treating reading as an operation altogether different from 
talking. 

But you will ask me how you may learn to do this. 
You must first distinctly recognize the fault, for, as 
with most faults, knowledge is half way towards cure. 
You must remember, also, that in this instance your 
business is more to unlearn than to learn. You have 
acquired a bad habit, and you must rid yourself of that; 
you have laboriously taught yourself to be affected and 
unnatural, and you have to lay affectation aside before 
you can read naturally. But that, joxjl will say, is the 
great difficulty. You are right ; it is far more easy to 
learn than to unlearn. A. bad habit, of slow growth, and 
long cherished, is not thrown off without the exercise of 
much firmness and persistency. It can be conquered, 
if you will that it shall be conquered. Time and practice 
are the remedies. A few days, a few months even, may 
not suffice to effect a perfect cure ; but week by week 
there will be a perceptible improvement ; and, though the 
fault may be never wholly removed, you will soon find 
such a lessening of it that you need not be ashamed to 
read anything aloud anywhere. 



What to Avoid — Articulation. 73 

Clearly understanding your fault, betake yourself to a 
room where, being alone, you will not be shy of failure, 
and give yourself your first lesson in the art of reading, 
and thenceforth let this besetting sin be ever before you 
when you are practising ; for if you forget it for a 
moment, during your earlier studies, at least, you will 
certainly relapse into the old strain. Do not begin with 
poetry, or speeches, or any kind of rythmical composition 
that has a tendency to provoke old habits. You would 
sing poetry, and mouth an oration ; everybody does who 
has not studied reading as an art. But select some veiy 
simple narrative, especially if it contains a conversa- 
tional dialogue, such as people talk in real life. Before 
you pronounce a word, ask yourself this question : " If I 
were going to tell this story out of my own head, instead 
of reading it from this book, to a friend sitting in that 
chair, rnyself sitting quite as composedly in this one, how 
should I utter it?" In such manner try now to read it 
aloud, addressing the said chair as if your friend was 
there in person. At first make no attempt to read well; 
practise nothing but how to read naturally. Repeat the 
same reading several times in succession, noting with a 
pencil such passages as you feel not to have been prop- 
erly spoken, and when you come to them again take 
special pains to avoid the fault of which 3 r ou were con- 
scious before. Suppose that you choose for your first 
lesson, Anderssen's clever story of the " Emperor's New 
Clothes " (and you could not find a better for your pur- 
pose). Think how you would tell it to your family cir- 
cle, after dark, before a Christmas fire, and in that man- 
ner try to read it. The perfection of such a reading 
would be, so to read that the eyes only of your audience, 



74 The Art of Reading. 

and not their ears, could tell them that you are reading. 
This must be your aim, and to this skill you will grad- 
ually approach, — insensibly, perhaps, if day be measured 
by day, but perceptibly enough to a listener at intervals 
of a month. 

I dwell thus upon this first step in your self-teaching, 
because it lies at the foundation of good reading ; and 
if the faults of early habit are not thrown off, and a 
natural manner restored, whatsoever your other accom- 
plishments, you cannot become a good reader. The art 
of reading can be mastered only by practice, conducted 
as I have described (for I am treating now of ^/-instruc- 
tion), and that practice persistently pursued for a long 
time. 

I would recommend to you that, at the beginning, you 
give your exclusive attention to this subject. It should 
engross your thoughts during your reading practice. 
Have no other care than how to read naturally. When 
you have made some manifest progress in this, and you 
are conscious that you are beginning to read as unaf- 
fectedly as you talk, you may begin to have regard to the 
other qualifications of a reader. 

And of these the first is to sound your words. Here, 
too, you will probably have much to ?mlearn. It is 
almost certain that you have fallen into habits of slov- 
enly utterance, acquired in early childhood, and never 
afterwards corrected ; for at school it is seldom deemed 
necessary to teach the pupil to speak and read ; it seems 
to be taken for granted that he can do thus much, or that 
it is a matter for his own correction only, and not within 
the province of a regular educational course. Moreover, 
in our daily talk we do not speak distinctly. We drop 



What to Avoid — Articulation. 75 

letters, we join words, we slur sounds, we mutter much 
that should be spoken. This is peculiarly an English 
fault, and you must guard against it sedulously, for it is 
a bar to good reading. The cure for it is the same as for 
the habit already noticed, — practice, — until you have so 
conquered it that the full sound of the word comes to 
your lips as readily as the imperfect sound to which they 
had been trained before. You must begin by an exag- 
geration of expression slowly repeated ; for it is sup- 
posed that you pursue this study alone, or with only a 
friendly adviser. Taking your book, pronounce each 
word deliberately, with a short pause between each one, 
and giving positive expression to every sound in the 
word. Make no attempt during this practice to do more 
than pronounce. Do not try to read; your present pur- 
pose is to master articulation. Remember this, that there 
are very few words with letters in them actually mute. 
Such letters are not sounded separately, it is true, but for 
the most part they modify the sound of other letters. 
Give to each sound that goes to make up the word its full 
value; do not omit to roll the " r's," and hiss the " s's," 
while learning j T our lesson ; there is no danger of your 
running into the extreme of expression. Having in this 
manner read a sentence very slowty, read it again some- 
what less slowly, and so three or four times, increasing 
the speed of utterance, until you find that you read it with 
ease and readiness. An articulation so acquired is of in- 
finite advantage, for it is thus that you make yourself 
distinctly heard afar off as well as near, and thus it is 
that you are enabled to express the most delicate shades 
of emotion by the most delicate inflections of sound. 



76 Pronunciation — Expression. 

^Letter %M. 

pb ojsruJsrciA tion — expression. 

Having, by slow reading and giving full expression to 
every sound, tutored yourself in articulation, and subdued 
the habitual tendency of the tongue to drop letters, Slur 
syllables, and dovetail words, you may gradually resume 
the proper speed in reading ; pausing, however, and re- 
peating the lesson, whenever you find yourself returning 
to your old habits of speech. The time thus spent will 
be a gain to you in the end ; for you cannot read well 
until this mechanical portion of the art is accomplished 
mechanically, without requiring the aid of the mind, 
which must be engaged upon other parts of your work. 
If you are considering how you shall pronounce your 
words, you cannot be thinking also what is the meaning 
of the author, and how it should be conveyed to your 
audience, — the only matters upon which the mind should 
be occupied while practising the art of reading. There- 
fore will it be necessary for you to exercise yourself in 
articulation for a very long time, and not to cease from 
practice, until you have so mastered it that you articulate 
well unconsciously, without thinking how you are to 
articulate. 

When you can articulate your words well, turn your 
attention to the pronunciation of sentences. In learning 
to articulate, you have practised with single words, giv- 
ing to each its full sound, without reference to its asso- 
ciation with other words. You will now study how to 



Pronunciation — Expression. 7 7 

pronounce many words placed together. In this process 
you have not, as before, to sound each word in full ; but 
you must mould the pronunciation of each according to 
the meaning it is designed to convey, and also in 
accordance with certain conventional laws of speech, 
by which, in a collocation of sounds, some are subordi- 
nated to others, and some modified so as to harmonize 
with those which precede or follow. Here, again, teach- 
ers of elocution profess to prescribe rules for the guidance 
of the pupil, which may be correct in themselves ; but 
the observance of which would certainly make the reader 
who tries to observe them an ungainly pedant, and his 
reading a positive pain to his audience. Pronunciation 
is, in truth, a matter of taste and ear, and if you cannot 
learn it by help of these monitors within, you will never 
master it by rules prescribed from without. 

I am treating now of pronunciation merely. The 
right expression to be given to sentences will be the 
subject for much more extended consideration presently. 

Practice and patience are the only hints I can offer you 
for the acquirement of a correct and pleasing pronuncia- 
tion. But it is almost certain that you will not be en- 
tirely free from defects acquired in early life, and espe- 
cially from provincialisms, of which it is so very hard to 
rid yourself, because you are not conscious of their 
presence. The sounds of the first words written on your 
memory are hard to be obliterated, and never can be cor- 
rected by your own unaided efforts. The simple remedy 
is to invite the assistance of a friend, who will be quite 
as efficient for the purpose as a master ; ask him to listen 
while you read, and to detect any provincialisms, or 
faulty or slovenly pronunciations, of which you may be 



Jr8 Pronunciation — Expression. 

guilty. Direct him to stop you as the word is spoken, 
and show you your error by uttering to you the word, 
first, as you spoke it, and then as it ought to have been 
spoken ; and you should repeat it again and again, until 
he ceases to find any fault with it. When you have thus 
completed a sentence and corrected every word that was 
imperfectly pronounced, read it again twice or thrice, 
rapidly but clearly, to be sure that you have caught the 
true sounds ; then, after an interval of diversion of the 
ear by reading other things, return to the passages that 
were the most incorrectly read, and try them again, until 
you can read them rightly without reflection or pause. 
Scoring the imperfectly pronounced words with a pencil, 
as your listening friend, or your own ear, tells you of 
their faultiness, will assist you in the performance of this 
useful exercise. 

Having thus acquired distinct articulation and correct 
pronunciation, you will address yourself to the third stage 
in the art of reading, — expression. Not merely must 
single words be fully sounded, and collected words rightly 
sounded, but that which you read requires to be uttered 
in the proper tone and with correct emphasis. 

I shall best explain to you what I mean by this, and con- 
vince you of its importance, by looking at the sources of it. 

Speech is one, and the most frequent, of the media by 
which mind communicates with mind. When you ad- 
dress another person, it is your purpose either to convey 
to him some fact, or to excite in him some emotion, or to 
convince him by some argument. Strict philosophy 
would assign this third object to the former ones ; but, 
as I am not writing a philosophical treatise, but merely 
telling you my experiences as to the best manner of 



Pronunciation — Expression. 79 

learning an art, I prefer this threefold description as 
most intelligible. Whatever the mind desires to convey 
it expresses, natural^ and unconsciously, in a manner of 
its own. You will instantly recognize this natural 
language in the expression of the more powerful emo- 
tions, — joy, grief, fear. Each has its proper tone, the 
meaning of which is recognized by all human beings, 
whether the emotion be or be not shaped into speech. 
But the finer emotions have their own appropriate ex- 
pression also, which you may discover if 3XH1 observe 
closely, diminishing by delicate shades until they can be 
caught only by the refined ear, and from which we may 
conclude that whatever the mind desires to express in 
speech is naturally and unconsciously uttered in a tone 
appropriate to itself, and which tone is adapted to excite 
the corresponding emotion in the mind to which it is 
addressed. You feel alarm. Your voice, without effort 
on your part, sounds the note of alarm ; it falls upon 
the ear and passes into the mind of another man, and 
instantly excites the same emotion in him. You are 
oppressed with grief. You give utterance to } r our grief 
in tones of sadness ; the mind that hears them feels sad 
too ; the same emotion is awakened in that mind by the 
faculty which is called sympathy, Words that come from 
the mind are but the mind made audible, and therefore 
must vary with every wave of thought or feeling. This 
is what I mean by expression in reading. 

We have not always expression when we speak, be- 
cause sometimes we talk almost mechanically, without 
the mind being engaged ; or, rather, with no purpose to 
convey any state of our own mind to the minds of others. 
That kind of talk you will readily recognize. There is 



80 Pronunciation — Expression. 

another sort of speech that may be without expression, 
which we call speaking by rote, where words come from 
the memory only, and not from the mind. This excep- 
tion, indeed, admirably illustrates the rule. It is a 
proverbial saying that a man talks like a parrot, — by 
rote, — to imply that he is merely reproducing sounds 
that have been impressed upon his memory, and not 
giving utterance to thoughts and feelings existing in his 
mind. You know the unmistakable monotony of speech 
by rote, and may thus, perhaps, more clearly apprehend 
my meaning when, in these letters, I treat only of the 
speech that expresses by infinite tones the infinite condi- 
tions of the mind from which it proceeds. 

You will readily gather from this brief sketch of the 
source of expression that it is a mental process, and that 
the surest, if not the only, way to accomplish it is to 
speak from the mind. If, in reading, you were uttering 
your own thoughts, there would be no difficult}^ in this, 
for nature would supply the right tones without an effort, 
and even without consciousness, on your part. You will 
say, perhaps, that in reading you do not express your 
own mind, but the mind of another. That is true ; but 
the same principle applies. In order to read well, you 
must make the thoughts of the author your ovm. This is a 
special faculty, possessed by various minds in various 
degrees. I can best explain it to you by reference to the 
case of the actor, who is a reader from meinoiy instead of 
from book, and in whom the faculty is so highly culti- 
vated that its operation can be most clearly seen. But 
the subject will, require a longer exposition than could 
properly be given to it at the close of a letter ; so at this 
point I pause. 



The AH of the A ctor and the Reader. 8 1 
ILetter XIII. 

THE ABT OF THE ACT OB AND THE BEADEB. 

The actor reads from his memory instead of reading 
from a book ; and he adds action ta expression. The 
reader reads from the book, and not from his memory ; 
but he should recite what he reads in precisely the same 
manner as does the actor. You have often heard it said 
of a man that he reads in a theatrical manner, as if that 
is a fault in him ; but, before it is admitted to be a 
fault, we must understand precisely in what sense the 
phrase is used. The term might be employed to indicate 
reading like a bad actor or like a good one. Some per- 
sons, educated in evil habits of reading, unaccustomed to 
hear good reading, and who have never contemplated 
reading as an art and an accomplishment, might igno- 
rantly denounce as " theatrical " any reading that rises 
above gabbling, and all attempts to give natural expres- 
sion to the words and thoughts. Such reading is 
" theatrical," indeed, but only in a commendable sense. 
There is, however, a theatrical manner, that is called so 
reproachfully, and with justice ; for it means reading like 
a bad actor, — ranting, mouthy, and declamatory, or 
lugubrious and droning ; tearing a passion to tatters, 
swelling into sing-song, or lapsing into a monotonous 
drawl. Exaggerated expression in reading is like a part 
overacted on the stage ; but it is preferable to the ab- 
sence of expression ; and therefore see that you do not 
fall into the fault of monotony through fear of being 
called " theatrical." 
6 



82 The Art of the Actor and the Reader. 

The faculty by which an actor is enabled to accomplish 
his task is that which gives to him the power of forgetting 
himself and becoming somebody else. Reflect for a 
moment what a man must do in order to play some part 
in a drama, — Hamlet, for instance. He must become 
Hamlet for the time, and for that time he must cease to 
be himself; he must think and feel as Hamlet, or he 
cannot look and move like Hamlet. He does not this by 
a process of argument ; he does not read a scene in the 
play, and then say to himself, " Here Hamlet is awe- 
stricken at the appearance of the ghost, and to look as 
if I was awe-stricken I must stand in this posture, and 
open my eyes thus wide, and make my voice quiver, — 
so, — and speak in such a tone." All this would be 
impossible of acquirement as a matter of teaching, for 
the memory could never carry such a multitude of direc- 
tions and recall them at the right moment. The actual 
process is more simple. The true actor reads the play ; 
he ascertains what was the character of Hamlet ; he 
learns the language put into Hamlet's mouth. When 
he reproduces it, he becomes Hamlet, feels and thinks as 
Hamlet ; the words have entered into his mind and 
excited there the precise emotions Hamlet was imagined 
to feel by the genius that created him. He feels them, not 
by rule, or by an effort of his own, but instinctively. 
The mind being moved, the voice, the aspect, the action, 
express the mind's emotions. It was thus that the 
dramatist wrote. He, too, did not artfully construct 
the thoughts and emotions conveyed by the words spoken 
by his personages. Placing his own mind in their posi- 
tions, he felt the feelings and thought the thoughts which 
such persons in such cases would have felt and thought, 



The A rt of the A ctor and the Reader. 83 

and these he clothed in appropriate language. The actor 
seizes upon the same personages, performs the same 
process of placing himself in imagination in the same 
positions, feels and thinks thus, and therefore rightly 
expresses the emotions and thoughts of the author. 
The difference between the genius of the actor and the 
genius of the author is this, — that the actor does not 
create, he merely expresses the creations of the author. 
Although the creative genius is the greatest, great is the 
genius that can embody those creations, and make them 
live before our eyes. When the process is contemplated, 
we cannot but marvel much at the power that can so 
identify itself with the emotions of another mind as to 
become that mind for a season, feel all that it felt, think 
all that it thought, and then express those thoughts and 
feelings, as the creator of the character would have 
expressed them, had he possessed the power to do so. 

To be a good reader, }T>u must possess a portion of 
this faculty of the actor. The great actor has two men- 
tal powers that are perfectly distinct, each of which 
might exist without the other. He must be able to read 
truly and to act rightly. It is not enough for Mm that 
he can read the part as it ought to be read ; he must 
also be able to act it as it ought to be acted. Herein is 
the difference between the actor and the reader. The 
reader requires to be only half an actor ; he needs but to 
be accomplished in the first portion of the actor's art. 
Hence it is more easy to be a good reader than a good 
actor ; hence it is that, although a good actor must be a 
good reader, you may be a very good reader without 
being also a good actor. But bear this in mind, that 
you should endeavor to accomplish yourself even to the 



84 The Art of the A ctor and the Reader. 

actor's skill in reading, and that the test of your excel- 
lence will be precisely that which would be applied to 
the reading of his part by the actor upon the stage. As 
the critic would sit in judgment on the manner in which 
an actor reads Hamlet when he acts it, — that is to say, 
how he expresses the words, apart from the acting, — so 
would a judicious critic judge your reading of it when 
seated in the drawing-room. The rules to be observed 
by both are the same ; the same effects are to be studied, 
the same intonations to be used. You should so read 
that, if the listener's eyes were bandaged, he could not 
tell that jow. were not acting, save by perceiving that 
your voice is stationary. 

I have dwelt on this connection and distinction 
between acting and reading, because they are seldom 
rightly understood even by those who have studied the 
art of reading. Some, fearing to be thought " theatrical," 
make a positive endeavor to avoid reading as an actor 
should read ; and, on the other hand, some think that 
acting and reading are identical, and rush into a manner- 
ism that imperfectly unites the two and spoils both, and 
these are the readers to whom the reproach of being 
"theatrical" properly applies. By clearly understand- 
ing what is the precise boundary between reading and 
acting, — how nearly they approach, but never touch, — 
you will, I hope, educate yourself to advance boldly to 
the boundary of your art, without trespassing beyond it 
into the territory that belongs exclusively to the actor. 

I cannot too often repeat to } r ou that the foundations 
of the art of reading are understanding and feeling. If 
you do not clearly see the writer's meaning, you cannot 
interpret truly his thoughts ; and, unless you can feel the 



The Art of the Actor and the Reader. 85 

emotions he is painting, you cannot give the right expies- 
sion to the words that breathe them. If you are deficient 
in either of these faculties, no study will make you a 
good reader. Having these natural gifts, all the rest 
may be acquired by diligence and training. I do not 
assert that, without these qualifications, it is useless to 
learn the art of reading. I desire only to warn you that, 
wanting them, or either of them, you may not hope to 
become an accomplished reader. But you may acquire 
sufficient of the art for all the ordinary purposes of 
business or recreation ; you may read easily to yourself 
and pleasantly to others, — more pleasantly, indeed, than 
many who possess the natural qualifications you want, 
but want the training you have received. Do not, there- 
fore, be disheartened should you discover that you cannot 
throw your mind instantly into the conceptions of the 
author, so as to think and feel them as if they had been 
your own ; but manfully resolve to learn to do that which 
not one educated man in ten can do, namely, to read a 
page of prose or poetry with common propriety, to say 
nothing of reading it with effect. 

And do not too hastily conclude that you have not the 
faculties in question. Rarely are they quite absent from 
an}' mind. Often they lie dormant for want of cultiva- 
tion and stimulus, unknown even to the possessor, until 
some accident reveals to himself and others the capacities 
of which he was not before conscious. They may be 
awakened from sleep ; they may be stimulated into 
action ; they may be cultivated into excellence. Be 
assured that they are quite wanting in you before }'ou 
despair. Do not resign on the first trial. Persevere 
until conviction is forced upon you. 



86 The Art of the A ctor and the Reader. 

How may you ascertain this important fact? Take 
some dramatic composition, some play of Shakespeare 
which you have not seen upon the stage, or a chapter of 
dialogue in a novel, and read it aloud. Are you con- 
scious that you understand the author's meaning? Do 
you feel the emotions he expresses, or do they go into 
your ear and out at your lips without passing through 
your mind and there becoming instinct with soul, so 
that you speak living words, and not mere inanimate 
sounds? Your own feelings will soon tell you if you 
have any sj'mpathies with the author. But if you are 
unwilling to trust yourself, ask the same judicious friend, 
before recommended as }'our assistant, to lend you his 
ears for half an hour's reading. He can surely tell, if 
you cannot, whether } T ou read with emotion or by rote. 
Improve } T ourself by hearing good reading and seeing 
good acting whensoever the opportunity offers ; and, 
comparing your own reading with that of the reader or 
actor, you will the more readily discover your own 
deficiencies and set to mending them. 

Thus we arrive at the conclusion that reading is an art 
which all may acquire sufficiently for the daily uses of 
life at home or abroad. 

As an accomplishment, where the pleasure of the 
audience is the object, reading must be something more 
than tolerable, — it must be good. 



Management of the Voice — Tone. 87 
letter £EF* 

THE MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICE— TONE. 

£ save endeavored to explain to you, that to become 
a good reader you must learn to pronounce the words 
properly and express the sense rightly. These are the 
indispensable foundations of reading ; but divers accom- 
plishments of various values must be superadded. Of 
these presently. 

You now understand, I hope, what it is you have need 
to acquire. I will now proceed to give you some hints 
(for it will be impossible to do more by writing than 
suggest) how to pursue this acquirement ; how you may 
best learn to read correctly and expressioely. 

As I have already observed, the first step is the most 
difficult, — it is the banishment of positive faults. Few 
are free from them altogether ; they are painfully prom- 
inent in the majority of persons, however highty 
educated. There is but one training that will cure these 
defects. You may modify, but you cannot remove, them 
by your own unaided efforts, because, so much has habit 
familiarized them, you are not conscious of their presence. 
A judicious friend would indicate them to you ; so 
would a master ; but a friend is preferable, for masters 
v are almost always infected with mannerism, and there is 
the utmost danger of their infecting you. A friend who 
would serve you by listening and indicating your faults 
on the instant, compelling you to repetition of the word 
or the sentence until it is mended, is the best possible 
teacher. Perhaps in your own family circle you may find 



88 Management of the Voice — Tone, 

some to do this good office. The fault thus indicated^ 
and at once amended, is not readily forgotten afterwards. 
When the same word recurs, you remember the fault and 
avoid it, until after a while you will find the right pro- 
nunciation or reading as familiar to you as was the wrong 
one. To this, however, perseverance is needful. Errors 
entertained from childhood are not banished in a day. 
The lesson must be repeated daily, until no pause for 
reflection Jioiu to speak is manifest. "When you have 
attained to this the fault is conquered. 

Positive faults removed, the next step will be to ac- 
quire the accomplishments. You have learned what not 
to do, you will next learn what to do. 

The most frequent faults are imperfect articulation, 
provincialisms, bad management of the voice, monotony, 
absence of emphasis, and emphasizing in the wrong 
place. 

A few words on each of these. 

Imperfect articulation, its causes and its cure, have 
been already treated of. 

Provincial pronunciation has the same origin ; early 
associations become so much a habit that you are uncon- 
scious of their presence. A listener, not from the same 
part of the country, can alone detect the presence of 
these provincialisms and set you to mending them. Both 
this and imperfect articulation are of all faults the most 
difficult to remove, and they can be conquered only by 
patience and perseverance. It is not the work of a day, 
or a week ; months, or even years, may be required 
thoroughly to subdue them. 

The management of the voice is a point of very great 
importance in reading. There is, first, the regulation of 



Management of the Voice — Tone. 89 

the breath. You cannot breathe, while reading, without 
a perceptible pause, and more or less of alteration in the 
tone of the voice, produced by the change from the empty 
to the full lung affecting the pressure upon the delicate 
organs of speech. Hence the necessity for so regulating 
the breath that it may be drawn at the right moment. 
Where sentences are not very long, there is no great 
difficulty in breathing at the close of a sentence ; but 
sometimes sentences are extended through many lines, 
and the sense requires that the voice should be evenly 
sustained from the beginning to the end. In such a 
case you must breathe before its conclusion. The effort 
will be least perceptible if you seize a convenient mo- 
ment for a pause, which, by a little art, might be made 
to appear as a pause required by the subject, and thus an 
operation really wanted for your own relief may, \>y in- 
genuity, add efficiency to the reading, relieving the 
monotony of sound, and giving time to the listener to 
follow the sense, which, in such cases, is usually involved 
in a wilderness of words. But there is one rule for the 
management of breathing which is equally applicable to 
all occasions. Invariably breathe through the nostrils, and 
not through the mouth. This is the golden rule for read- 
ing and for speaking. If you do not observe this rule, 
your utterance will be a series of spasmodic gasps. 
Breathing through the nostrils, the air is slowly admit- 
ted, the lungs expand, and the chest rises with an equa- 
ble motion that prevents the voice from quivering, and 
its tones from changing abruptly. 

At all times the voice requires to be kept under con- 
trol. Some readers do not speak out, but as many are 
unable to keep rein upon their voices. Both are faults 



9° Management of the Voice — Tone. 

of almost equal degree. Both may be natural defects, 
incapable of cure ; but far more frequently they are the 
results of bad training, or no training, in early youth. 
In such cases the cure is not difficult. Simply to speak 
oat should be the first lesson. Go into a room alone, or, 
still better, into a field, and read aloud at the top of 
your voice ; thus you will learn what power of voice is 
in you, and ascertain w r hat you can do, if need be. If 
you find your voice weak, repeat the process day by 
clay, for weeks or months, and its strength will certainly 
be increased, sufficiently, at least, for all the purposes of 
ordinary reading. If your breathing is short, that, too, 
will be strengthened by the same exercise ; and I have 
found no little benefit from a practice which seems rather 
formidable at first, namely, reading aloud as you walk up 
hill. Not merely does this strengthen the lungs, but it 
teaches you the scarcely less important acquirement of 
regulating the supply of the breath to the voice, upon 
which you must depend mainly for ease in reading. To 
husband the breath is in itself an art, for, if you pour out 
too much, you exhaust the lungs and must replenish them 
before a proper pause in the sentence permits of it, to the 
equal annoyance of your audience and of yourself. You 
may measure your capacity in this respect by taking a 
full inspiration, and then at regular intervals counting 
one, two, three, etc., and the number you can thus ex- 
press at one breath, without refilling the chest, will show 
you, not only the power of j r our lungs, but also the con- 
trol Which yow have over them in regulating the exit of 
the breath. Make a note of the number to which you 
attain at the beginning of your training, and compare it 



Management of the Voice — Tone. 91 

from time to time with present capacities, and you will 
see what has been your progress. 

But not only must you acquire power of voice, you 
must learn also to regulate the voice. This is an accom- 
plishment far more difficult than mere strength of voice, 
as may be seen by the comparative infrequency of the at- 
tainment. How many persons, in all other respects good 
readers, are wanting in the power of intonation ! They 
read right on, perhaps with a fine, full, sonorous, and 
even musical voice, that is in itself very pleasing, but 
which we find to be a monotone. Let this be ever so rich 
or sweet in itself, it palls by its monotony. The ear 
soon longs even for a discord to disturb that smooth 
stream of sound which, delightful at first, after a while 
becomes wearisome, and, in the end, positively painful. 
Only one degree worse than this is a weak or dissonant 
voice. Whatever yours may be, }t>u must strive indus- 
triously to avoid monotony and cultivate flexibilit} 7 of the 
organs of speech and variety of tone. Almost every 
sentence requires a change of the voice, according to the 
thought it utters. The tones of the voice are the natural 
expression of the mind — the natural language of the 
emotions — understood by all, felt by all, exciting the 
sympathies of all, appealing equally to all people of all 
countries, and of all classes. Unless you can express, by 
the tones of your voice, the emotions which the printed 
page before you is designed to convey, you cannot per- 
form your function of interpreter between the author and 
the audience, and you will fail to achieve the very pur- 
pose of your art. 

Closely scanned, you will discover that this is very 
nearly the measure of accomplishment in the art of read- 



92 Management of the Voice — Tone. 

ing. Excellence consists in the command of tone. The 
presence of this power will compensate for the absence 
of many other good qualities ; its absence will not be 
compensated by the presence of all other excellences. 
Clear articulation, correct pronunciation, accurate ac- 
centuation, and the graces of a rich voice well managed, 
are not substitutes for those tones that express the emo- 
tions and ally sound with sense. Tone of the voice re- 
sembles expression of the countenance. How often have 
you admired a face that had not a single faultless feature, 
because it possessed the undefinable charm of expression ! 
So it is with readers. Where the mind flashes and 
sparkles in the voice, the listener first forgives, and then 
forgets, the gravest deficiencies in other requirements of 
the art. 

Therefore, cultivate tone. It is not a faculty you can 
acquire, because it is the result of certain characteristics 
of the mind ; but it may be educated. Indeed, education 
is necessary, not only to expand it, but to train it in the 
right direction. If you enjoy the mental capacity, you 
may want the physical power to express the feelings per- 
fectly. The largest emotion in your own breast would 
be dwarfed when expressed by a thin, small voice. Nev- 
ertheless, when the faculty is not altogether wanting, — 
and such a case is extremely rare, — it is capable of in- 
definite, though not unlimited, improvement. The phys- 
ical organs may be strengthened by judicious use, and 
the mind itself may be trained to a more rapid, as well as 
a more energetic, expression of its emotions. Submit 
yourself to a series of lessons set to yourself, and re- 
peated to yourself, if you have not a friend who will hear 
and correct them. Begin with the reading of a few pages 



Emphasis. 93 

of some composition calculated to kindle strong emo- 
tions, and when, by frequent repetition, you have brought 
out the full meaning, turn to others in which the emo- 
tions to be expressed are more subtle. Having mastered 
these, advance to the still more delicate shades of mean- 
ing that require to be expressed by the slightest varia* 
tions of tone. 

Thus much being achieved, your work will be more 
than half accomplished ; the foundations will be laid 
upon which you will, with small comparative difficulty, 
advance to the next stage of self-instruction in the art 
of reading. 



ILttitx ITS. 

EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis is next to be studied, and it is entirely with- 
in the reach of self-attainment. Tone must, to some ex- 
tent, depend upon physical and mental qualifications ; but 
emphasis may be acquired by all. It is simply a stress 
laid upon words to which it is desired to attract the spe- 
cial attention of the listener, and the art of reading is not 
acquired until, — 

First, emphasis is placed upon the right words. 

Secondly, the right amount of emphasis is given to each 
word ; and, 

Thirdly, emphasis is not given to wrong words. 

It is very difficult to describe emphasis by language. 
It is not precisely a loud sound, nor a lengthened sound, 
nor a pause, nor a peculiar tone, although it partakes 



94 Emphasis. 

something of all of these. If you do not clearly under* 
stand what it is, you may recognize it by reading half a 
dozen lines of the first book you open, uttering each word 
in the same manner, without the slightest change of ex- 
pression, and giving to particles and nouns the self-same 
value ; you will thus discover what language would be, if 
pronounced without emphasis. Read them now in your 
usual manner, and you will find that, instinctively, with- 
out so designing, you pass some words glibly over the 
tongue, almost stringing them together, and to others you 
give a marked prominence, by an effort, partly mental, 
partly physical, sometimes called a stress. That is em- 
phasis, and, next to tone, the right use of it is necessary 
to good reading. 

In mastering emphasis, then, you must first learn to 
place it upon the right words. How may you do this? 

Writers and lecturers on elocution profess to prescribe 
many rules for the purpose, which they expect you to 
commit to memory, and apply when you are reading. I 
will not dispute the correctness of these rules; perhaps 
it is in unconscious accordance with them that we read 
rightly ; but I am sure that no person ever reads by 
rule, even if he reads according to rule. A reader who 
should beat about in his memory for rules for reading, 
and pause to apply them, however rapidly he might per- 
form the process, would be a halting reader ; certainly he 
would never read from his mind, but only from his book, 
and there would be a pedantic stiffness and slowness, 
more unpleasing to an audience than wrong reading. I 
shall not trouble you with the reproduction of rules for 
that which, after all, is more the work of good taste, but 
content myself with a few hints how you may best 



Emphasis. 95 

cultivate this important ingredient in the art of read- 
ing. 

Need I repeat that you must understand thoroughly 
what 3'Ou are reading? Without this, it is impossible 
that you can lay the emphasis rightly ; and, if } r ou rightly 
understand, you will emphasize well, by a natural im- 
pulse and unconsciously. But the faculty of rightly and 
quickly apprehending a writer's meaning is so rare that 
you cannot rely upon the possession of it. You must not 
be disheartened if you discover that it is but feeble in you. 
The degrees of its power are infinite, as various as there 
are men ; few can boast of its perfect enjoyment ; as it is 
a faculty capable of education, let a sense of its weakness 
in yourself serve only to stimulate you to put it in train- 
ing, by the simple process of reading a sentence from 
some great author and setting what you suppose to be its 
meaning in your own words. Be not content with think- 
ing what that meaning is, or you will be sure to skip the 
difficulties, but express it audibly, or, which is better, be- 
cause surer, write it. This, often repeated, will work 
speedy improvement in the accuracy and rapidity with 
which you will catch, from a glance at his words, what 
the author designed to convey. 

But it is not enough to know what words should be 
emphasized. You should study, also, what amount of 
emphasis to give to each. The soul of reading is variety. 
Scarcely any two words in a sentence require precisely 
the same quantity of emphasis. You may readily satisfy 
yourself of the necessity for varied stress on various 
words by reading a sentence aloud, but uttering the 
words to be emphasized with the same measure of 
emphasis. The effect will be ludicrous. The purpose 



g6 Emphasis. 

of emphasis is to impress upon the listener's mind the 
ideas to which it is desired to arrest his attention in 
proportion to their relative importance. In printing, this 
object is partially accomplished by the use of italic; but 
these italics do not convey different degrees of expres- 
sion, and in this respect an author perused in print is 
vastly less effective and interesting than when well read 
aloud. In writing, the same feeble attempt to supply 
the place of emphasis is made by lines under the words 
on which a stress is designed to be laid, the number of 
dashes indicating the writer's notions of the degree of 
emphasis he would have used had he been speaking. 
This is one step in advance of the italic of the printers, 
which admits of no variations, and both fall far short of 
the infinite flexibility of the voice. But the " dashes " of 
the writer and the italics of the printer remind me of 
a danger to which all who use emphasis are extremely 
liable. If you are given to "dashing" your words, 
doubtless you will have found it to be a growing habit. 
Having emphasized so many, you are compelled to 
emphasize so many more, in order to preserve their 
proportionate importance in relation to the rest, until 
your letters are ruled over like a music-book ; thus, 
trying to be very forcible, you have become very feeble. 
So it is with authors who indulge in italics; the appetite 
grows with gratification, until the number of them 
destroys their effect. The same fault is not uncommon 
with readers who emphasize over much. Here, too, the 
power of the stress is lost if it is overlaid, for much 
emphasis is even more disagreeable than none. You will 
be required to keep constant watch and ward over your- 
self, or ask indulgent friends to notify your fault to you, 



Emphasis. 97 

if you would avoid a habit whose growth is imperceptible, 
and which, once acquired, is extremely difficult to be 
thrown aside. 

The best practice for the mastery of emphasis is to 
read a sentence, ponder upon its meaning, see that you 
understand it, or think you do ; then w T ith a pencil score 
the words on which the greatest stress should be laid. 
Read it aloud, emphasizing the words so marked, and 
those only. Then score in like manner, but with a 
shorter " dash," such words as require a lesser degree of 
emphasis. Read again, observing the two degrees of 
emphasis. Repeat the process a third, and even a fourth 
time, until you have exhausted all the words that appear 
to you to require any stress to be laid upon them. 

This is the first lesson. After a while you may spare 
yourself the tediousness of repeated readings of the same 
sentence, by thus scoring with lines of different lengths 
the words to be emphasized in whole paragraphs, pages, . 
and sections. But score them thus while reading silently, 
and afterwards read the whole aloud, pencil in hand ; the 
necessity for expression and the judgment of your ear 
will combine to test to a considerable extent the accuracy 
of your previous mental exercise ; and as you read, you 
should improve the score by additions and corrections, 
according to the discoveries you make of errors and 
omissions, and this do until you are satisfied with the 
reading, and the whole is marked as you would utter it. 

But not for a final closing. As you advance in the 
study and practice of the art of reading, you should, 
from time to time, revert to the pages that preserve 
your earlier impressions of the emphasis to be bestowed 
upon them, and repeat the reading, for the purpose of 
7 



98 Emphasis. 

learning, not only what progress you have made, but how 
your better knowledge has changed your first views. At 
each of such readings, alter the scoring according to your 
new conceptions ; you will thus measure your advance- 
ment, which mere memory will not enable you to do. 

All this will appear very easy, and perhaps of very 
little interest or utility. But, in truth, it is by no means 
an eas}^ task. Before you make trial of it, you will think 
that any school-boy might mark the words to which 
emphasis should be given in reading. At the first trial 
such will probably be your own reflection, and you will 
use your pencil with a rapidity extremely flattering to 
your self-complacency. But, on the second or third 
repetition, you will begin to discover that you had been 
moving too fast ; you will doubt the correctness of some 
of your readings ; other meanings will present them- 
selves ; you will be obliged to question closely the 
author's intent, that } t ou may solve your doubts ; this 
more minute inspection will reveal new difficulties, not 
merely of meaning, but as to the proper manner of 
expressing the meaning, and you will find yourself 
engaged, perhaps, in a task of elaborate criticism. Not 
until you have reached tliis stage in the study of the art 
of reading, will you fully comprehend its extent and 
value. "You may have been accustomed to look upon it 
as merely a graceful mechanical accomplishment ; you 
will now discover that it is a high mental attainment, 
demanding the cultivation and exercise of the loftiest 
intellectual powers. 



Pause — Punctuation, etc. 99 



letter £FI* 

PAUSE — PUNCTUATION — MANAGEMENT OF THE 
BBEA TH— INFLECTION 

Thorough understanding of what you read is essential 
to the right use of emphasis in reading. You must know 
perfectly what you are going to express, or it will be 
impossible to give to it the true expression. But not 
only is it necessary for you to understand, you must 
seize the meaning with such rapidity that the conception 
of the author may be apprehended in the momentary 
interval between the entrance of the words at the eye 
and their exit through the lips. Remember that this is 
the utmost limit of time permitted to } t ou when you read 
aloud something you had not previously studied. Yet, 
immeasurably brief as is this interval, it suffices for ordi- 
nary purposes, and for compositions not pregnant with 
thought. But, to accomplish it, you must learn to keep 
your eye always in advance of your lips ; you must 
actually read one line while uttering another. If you did 
not so, how, possibty, could } t ou give the right expression 
to the beginning of the sentence, knowing not the purport 
of the entirety of it? In practice the art is not so diffi- 
cult as it appears in description. The worst readers 
exercise it to some extent, and experienced readers do it 
so unconsciously that they are probably not aware what 
a wonderful process it is. I can suggest to you no rules 
for its study or acquisition. I can recommend only per- 
severing practice. At first you will doubtless find 
yourself grievously in fault in your reading. You will 



ioo Pause — Punctuation — 

commence sentences, especially if long ones, with ex- 
pression utterly unsuited to the meaning as developed 
at their close. When you find this, try back, and read 
the same sentence rightly, with the aid of your better 
knowledge of its purport. By degrees j r ou will discover 
that eye and mind may be trained to travel onward in 
advance of the lips so far and fast that, when one sen- 
tence is concluded, the next will be given to your tongue 
fully prepared for utterance. 

It will not do to pause while your eye thus travels for- 
ward, unless the matter } T ou read admits of it. A long 
pause is extremely unpleasing to hearers, for it conveys 
an impression of incapacity to pronounce a word, or 
indicates a suppressed stammer. But, with cautious 
exercise of judgment, you might avail yourself of the 
proper pauses to lengthen the period allowed for the fore- 
casting of the eye, where a sentence is of unusual length 
or complication. The judicious use of this contrivance 
I must leave to your own good taste and correct ear ; 
there is no fixed measure of it, — nothing that can be 
reduced to rule. 

I come now to those pauses, or rests in the flow of 
speech, which in printing and writing are clumsily repre- 
sented by stops. The signs are eight, namely, the 
comma, the semicolon, the colon, the full stop, the note 
of interrogation, the note of admiration, the hyphen, and 
the dash. School-books and other treatises on elocution 
give you explicit directions for the measurement of these 
various signals, telling you that you should count one for 
a comma, two for a semicolon, and so forth. Such rules 
are worthless ; they fail utterly in practice. So various 
are the rests required in reading, that no variety of nota- 



Management of the Breath, etc. 101 

tion would serve to indicate them. The comma may be 
repeated half a dozen times in a sentence, and on each 
occasion a different length of pause may be required. 
So it is with the other " stops ; " they tell you, in fact, 
nothing more than that the author, or rather the printer, 
is of opinion that at the points of insertion the sentence 
is divisible into parts more or less perfectly. They are 
introduced with little or no reference to their use in read- 
ing aloud, — how little, indeed, you might discover by 
taking up the first book that lies before you, and reading 
the first page at which you chance to open it. You will 
find that the stops do not help you much, and often are a 
hindrance. Authors exhibit the strangest vagaries in 
punctuation. You would be amused and amazed at 
many of the manuscripts and proofs that vex the eyes of 
editors. Often the stops are scattered with such profu- 
sion that half a dozen words are nowhere permitted to 
live in harmony without this forcible separation from 
their fellows. Sometimes the right " stop " is inserted in 
the wrong place, as if of malice aforethought ; by others, 
the wrong stop is continuously employed in the right 
place, — as a colon where there should be a comma, — to 
the infinite vexation of sensitive readers, who pull up 
suddenly or make preparation for a halt, just where they 
ought not to do so. You must know that the follies of 
the author in this respect are usually corrected by the 
compositor, or the press-reader ; but the author is not 
always content to abide by that better judgment, and 
insists on his own punctuation being preserved ; and even 
if so corrected, the work is necessarily done imperfectly, 
and, as I have previously stated, with a view to the 



102 Pause — Punctuation — 

division of the sentences rather than to the reading of 
them aloud. 

For these reasons you must make your own punctua- 
tion, both in place and in length of pause, being guided 
by the meaning of the words, by your sense of fitness, by 
your ear, and by the requirements of your chest and 
throat. These last should be permitted to prevail as 
rarely as possible, because, if not also called for by the 
meaning of what you are reading, they fall disagreeably 
upon the ears of the listener ; and it is important that 
you should early learn to regulate your breathing, so that 
you may inspire at the moment when otherwise you 
would make a pause of equal length. Now this is an art 
to be acquired by practice, and which I may as well 
describe to you in this place, as being intimately con- 
nected with the pauses intended to be indicated by punc- 
tuation. 

The management of the breath is almost as needful to 
good reading as the management of the voice. The 
primary requisite is to draw breath as ^frequently as 
possible ; and this you can accomplish only by making 
your breath hold out as long as possible. How to do 
this? First, when you draw breath, fill your chest; 
then, expire slowly, and do not breathe again until 
exhausted. There is an art in breathing properly, and 
it consists in breathing through the nose, and not through 
the mouth. The uses of breathing through the nose are 
many. The air is filtered in its passage by the bristles 
that line the nostrils ; and the particles of dust floating 
about are thus prevented from touching the sensitive 
organs of the throat, and you are saved many an incon- 
venient cough. The air traverses a small, long, and very 



Management of the Breath, etc. 103 

warm tube, before it reaches the windpipe, by which its 
temperature is raised to that of the delicate membranes 
on which it there impinges, and thus their irritation, or 
even inflammation, is prevented. If you breathe through 
the mouth, the air rushes in, carrying with it impurities 
that make you cough by their contact with the mucous 
membrane, while the cold irritates the sensitive organ, 
and produces temporary inconvenience, possibly pro- 
tracted illness. There is another result of breathing 
through the mouth, peculiarly unpleasant to readers and 
speakers, the drying of the lips, tongue and throat. — 
an effect produced also b} 7 nervousness, and which is the 
consequence of the contraction and closing of the ducts 
from the salivary glands. Accustom yourself, therefore, 
to breathe through the nostrils. Although a more 
lengthened process and requiring a longer pause, it is 
far less disagreeable to a listener than the gasps, followed 
often by tickling and a cough, that are exhibited by the 
speaker who breathes through his mouth. 

Having taken your breath rightly, there is some art in 
the right use of it. You must husband it with care, and 
give no more of it to each distinct sound you utter than 
is necessary for its perfect expression. You can regulate 
the sound only by regulating the breath. Practice will 
strengthen you in this performance, and you may try 
your progress in it from time to time by counting one, 
two, three, etc., at measured intervals, and noting how 
many numbers you can thus count with one inspiration. 
The use of this will soon be apparent in practice ; for you 
will come to the end of your voice before you have 
reached the end of the sentence ; and then you will be 
compelled to mar its meaning, and annoy your audience 



1 04 Pause — Punctuation — 

by pausing when the sense of what you are reacting 
requires that you should link the words closely together. 
But, having acquired facility for extending one breath 
over a long sentence, if need be, you are not required 
always to speak till no breath remains. On the contrary, 
you should seize every convenient opportunity for per- 
forming the operation in a right place, lest you should be 
compelled to do so in a wrong one. Choose such pauses 
as should be indicated by what is called the " full stop " 
in writing. Thus you will learn to enjoy the entire com- 
mand of your voice ; and the best practice for that 
purpose is to read daily a few pages, with the sole 
design of mastering the process I have endeavored to 
describe. 

Nearly allied to emphasis and pause is inflection. I 
mean by this term the rise* and fall of the voice, — a 
variation essential to the avoidance of monoton}^, and the 
securing of an attentive ear from your audience. Some 
skill is required for the right regulation of this. The 
limit within which the voice may range is not wide ; the 
movement must be determined, partly by what you read, 
partly by ear. There are no rules to which you can 
safely trust for guidance. . I can do little more to help 
you than tell you what to avoid. There is a frequent 
fault of which you should beware. Many persons, try- 
ing to escape from a level voice, fall into the still more 
unpleasant practice of speaking in waves; that is to say, 
the voice is made to rise and fall by a regular swelling 
and sinking at precisely even periods, — an utterance 
difficult to describe in words, but which you will doubt- 
less recognize readily from this rude comparison of it. 
The right use of inflection is one of the most subtle 



Management of the Breath, etc. 105 

ingredients m the art of reading. If it be judiciously 
employed, however slightly, it gives a spirit and meaning 
to the words that win even unwilling ears. The voice, 
raised at some fitting moment, sends the thought straight 
into the mind that is opened expectantly. Judiciously 
lowered, it touches the emotions. There is no fixed rule 
either for raising or dropping the voice. A vague 
notion prevails that the punctuation has something to 
do with it ; that you ought to lower the voice at the end 
of a sentence ; that a full stop should be notice to you, 
not only to halt, but to drop gradually down into silence. 
This is a grievous error, and so common as to be almost 
a national fault. It is remarkably shown in our mannei 
of speaking ; and this will serve as an excellent illustra- 
tion of my meaning. The English usually drop their 
voices at the end of a sentence ; other nations, and the 
French especially, usually raise it. In other words, we 
talk with the downward inflection, and they with the 
upward inflection. The consequence is that their conver- 
sation appears much more lively, and their talk is more 
readily intelligible to a foreigner than is ours. The last 
words of an Englishman's sentences are often unintelli- 
gible, because his voice falls until it dies away in a sort 
of guttural murmuring. And, as we talk, so, too often, 
do we read. We drop the voice at the end of every sen- 
tence, beginning the next sentence some half a dozen 
notes higher and several degrees louder. Now, the art 
of reading requires just the reverse of this. Instead of 
lowering the voice at the end of a sentence, the general 
rule should be to keep it up, and even slightly to raise it. 
Thus it is that the attention of an audience is sustained, 
and a liveliness is imparted to your discourse far beyond 



106 Pause — Punctuation, etc. 

the apparent simplicity of the means adopted. Try it. 
Read a page, using the English downward inflection, and 
then read the same page, using the upward inflection at 
the end of each sentence, and mark the contrast upon 
your own energies. Ask a friend to do the like, and 
listen ; you will instantly recognize the superior life and 
vigor infused into the composition. Repeat the experi- 
ment in a large room, before a numerous audience, and 
you will find that, while it is ver}^ difficult for the ear to 
seize the words uttered in the downward inflection, the 
entire sentence is clearly and readily caught by the most 
distant listener when the upward inflection is used, — 
that is to say, when the voice is made to rise, instead of 
being permitted to fall, at the end of a sentence. 

I remember once being at a rehearsal at Drury-lane, 
with one of our great actors. I expressed surprise that 
he did not speak louder ; as it seemed to me that his 
voice was not raised much beyond that of ordinary con- 
versation ; yet it filled the house and came back to 
us. He explained to me that it was really so. " If I 
were to speak twice as loud," he said, " I should not be 
heard half so well. To be heard by a large audience, 
you have only to speak slowly and to raise your voice at 
the end of every sentence." It was a lesson not to be 
forgotten, and, having tried and proved it, I recommend 
it to you. 



Mental and Physical Powers. 107 



letter XFEL 

ATTITUDE— INFLUENCE OF THE MENTAL OYEB 
THE PHYSICAL POWEBS. 

The hints that have been offered so far relate to 
reading generally ; they are designed to assist you in 
the development of those physical powers, without which 
intellectual capacity fails to express itself. The right 
management of the voice is as necessary as the right un- 
derstanding of that which the voice is to utter. Both are 
indispensable ; both require persistent study ; neither 
will compensate for defects in the other, and, in influence 
over a miscellaneous audience, it is doubtful whether a 
reading mechanically good would not surpass a reading 
intellectually good. However this may be, do not place 
too much reliance upon the virtues you mentally infuse 
into your reading, to the neglect of the graces with 
which voice and manner will invest them. To read well, 
you must do both well. 

For the purpose of controlling your breath, and thus 
governing your voice, some attention must be given to 
attitude; and fortunately the position that is best adapted 
for utterance is that which is most easy to yourself, and 
most agreeable to your audience. You should sit as up- 
rightly as possible, or, if that be inconvenient, inclining 
very gently in the chair, the arms well thrown back, so as 
to give to the chest the fullest and freest expansion, and 
the head erect, so as to remove all pressure from the 
throat, where the delicate organs of the voice are play- 



io8 Attitude. 

ing. Not only do you thus exercise them with the great- 
est ease to themselves, but the sounds they produce are 
sent most audibly and distinctly to the farthest range of 
listeners. If you stoop forward, bending over your book, 
you cannot take a full breath, you cannot regulate your 
tones, you are unable to make your breathing coincident 
with the necessary pauses of the discourse, and your voice 
is sent down, to be muffled by your book, or stifled upon 
the floor, instead of being flung forth, in a flowing stream 
of sound, to reach the ears of the most distant of the 
assembled circle. If you want to measure the amount 
of voice required to touch those farthest from you, the 
process is easy enough. No intricate calculation, not 
even a mental estimate of space, is necessary. Nothing 
more is needed than that you should look at the most 
distant of the persons you desire to address, and in- 
stinctively, without effort or calculation of your own, 
your voice will take the pitch of loudness requisite to 
make Mm hear. 

But you will probably say that, however useful these 
rules for attitude may be to speakers, they are inappli- 
cable to readers ; for how, you will ask, is it possible, 
sitting upright, or reclining gently back in a chair, with 
head erect, to read a book without holding it straight 
before the eye and consequently eclipsing your face 
entirely? I confess there is some difficulty at first in 
accomplishing this feat, but it is to be acquired by a little 
practice. Two processes are requisite to the perform- 
ance. First, you must master the art of keeping the eye 
and mind in advance of the tongue ; secondly, you must 
learn, while the head is erect, to read by turning the 
eyes down to a book placed below you, but yet at the 



Mental and Physical Powers. 109 

angle most convenient to sight, and which you must 
ascertain at the moment, for it varies with the nature of 
the composition, the size of the type, and even the qual- 
ity of the paper. If your audience did not look at you 
when reading, this position of the eye would, if unre- 
lieved, be inconvenient only to yourself. But an audi- 
ence must look at you, as well as be looked at by you, or 
you will not secure their attention. A reader, you must 
remember, is not a mere conduit pipe, to convey the 
words of the book to the minds of the listeners ; a good 
reader communicates directly with his audience ; he 
makes the ideas of the author so much his own, when 
transmitted through his mind, that they come from him 
animated and inspired by something of his own living 
spirit, so that the minds of the listeners feel themselves 
in communion with his mind, and there is a conscious- 
ness that the intercourse is intellectual and not mechani- 
cal merely. Strive, then, that your reading shall sound 
and seem as little like reading, and as much like speak- 
ing, as possible ; give to what you say, and to the man- 
ner of saying it, the air of being the utterance of your 
own mind rather than the mere repetition of the produc- 
tion of another mind, and this you can accomplish only 
by repeatedly raising your eyes from the book and look- 
ing at the audience while you complete the sentence 
which the eye and the mind, travelling before ike tongue, 
have committed to the memory. 

I have now said all that occurs to me as likely to be 
useful to you respecting that portion of the art of read- 
ing which depends upon the physical processes. But in 
the cultivation of these powers you must not forget that 
they are intimately allied with the intellectual processes. 



no Attitude. 

No single movement of the smallest muscle employed in 
the art of reading is purely mechanical ; it is governed 
more or less by mental emotions, with which it vibrates 
in a mysterious sympathy you can neither prompt nor 
control. The voice will express in tones and in tremors 
the feelings that are flashing through the brain, and the 
main object of all your studies and strivings will be, not 
so much to acquire something new, as to remove the bad 
habits by which the natural expression is impeded. You 
will have a great deal more to unlearn than to learn. 
Your endeavor from the beginning should be to go back 
to nature, — to have faith in her, — to find out what in 
your practice is artificial, and what is true, and by perse- 
vering effort to emancipate yourself from the slavery of 
habit. In these suggestions I have sought to consult 
nature alone, and I have given very little attention to 
the " rules" which professional writers and teachers have 
promulgated. It is not that it can be asserted of any of 
them, examined individually, that they are erroneous; 
they err only in that they attempt to reduce to rule an art 
which cannot, like science, be reduced to rule. I chal- 
lenge the proof to be thus tried. Let a page of any 
book be read strictly according to the rules of any trea- 
tise on, or teacher of, elocution ; it will be found intol- 
erably starched, ungainly, and stupid. Continually the 
infinite variations of the thought to be expressed will 
enforce a departure from the letter of the rule. Either 
the rule must bend to the meaning, or the meaning will' 
be murdered by the rule. Are not rules, that exist only 
by elasticity such as this, more likely to hinder than to 
help? Reflection and experience have combined to con- 
vince me that so it is ; and therefore I have ventured, in 



Illustrations. I n 

defiance of the authorities, to throw aside the conven- 
tional code, and have endeavored to trace out for you a 
new path to the art of reading. 



letter SFIUE, 

ILLUSTBATIONS. 

I proceed now to illustrate by examples the hints I 
have been suggesting. But I must preface my remarks 
by the assurance that very little indeed can be done for 
you upon paper. It is extremely difficult, more so even 
than I had anticipated when I commenced the task, to 
exhibit by any form of words, by any conventional signs, 
by any ingenuity of type, the manner in which ideas 
should be expressed, or the voice governed. Only by an 
intelligent listener freely pointing out your faults, or a 
practised reader setting you an example, can you hope 
to learn much more than that in which alone it was my 
purpose to assist you, namely, in knowledge of what you 
ought to do, leaving the learning of how to do it to your 
own sagacity, the judicious aid of a friend, or the lessons 
of a tutor. The few illustrations which I am enabled so 
imperfectly to produce, are, therefore, not designed so 
much to instruct you how to read, as to make more ap- 
parent to you and impress on your memory the sugges- 
tions I have thrown out for your guidance in self-educa- 
tion in the art of reading. Had I desired more than this, 
I could not have accomplished it. Words will not 



ii2 Illustrations. 

express tones. No description will convey the right 
measure of emphasis, or the delicate inflections of the 
voice. Clearly comprehending the narrow limits within 
which the following lessons can aid you, I will ask you 
to accompany me, not in thought merely, but with voice, 
reading aloud the passages cited, in the manner indi- 
cated. Observe that italic is used where slight emphasis 
is required ; small capitals where great stress is to be 
laid upon the word; the ordinary "points" or " stops" 
will indicate the pauses ; the [ - ] a passage in the nature 
of an interjection, breaking the chain of the sentence, 
and to be read in a different tone so as distinctly to 

mark the interval ; and the dash [ ] will mark the 

pauses that are not to be measured by the regular 
"stops." 

You will remember that the rules that have been sug- 
gested for observance in good reading were arranged 
under the titles of Tone, Emphasis, Pause, Inflection. 
The following illustrations are designed to exhibit all of 
these. 

I purposely select familiar passages. Take, then, a 
part of the first chapter of the Book of Genesis, which 
Thelwall (the elder) considered to be one of the most 
difficult of readings, and an excellent test of the capacity 
or progress of his pupils. 

First, read three or four verses right on, without any 
pause or expression whatever, merely pronouncing the 
words rightly. As thus : — 

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the 
earth and the earth was without form and void and dark- 
ness was upon the face of the deep and the Spirit of God 



Illustrations. 113 

moved upon the face of the waters and God said Let 
there be light and there was light and God saw the light 
that it was good and God divided the light from the 
darkness and God called the light Day and the darkness 
he called Xight and the evening and the morning were 
the first day." 

This is a starting-point from which you can measure 
the effects produced by the various kinds of expression. 

Then read the same passage with pauses, but still 
without emphasis or tone. As thus : — 

" In the beginning God created the heaven and the 
earth. 

" And the earth was without form, and void ; and 
darkness was upon the face of the deep ; and the Spirit 
of God moved upon the face of the waters. 

u And God said, Let there be light: and there was 
light. 

" And God saw the light, that it was good : and God • 
divided the light from the darkness. 

" And God called the light Da}', and the darkness he 
called Night. And the evening and the morning were 
the first day." 

You will hence learn the precise value of those pauses 
which are so imperfectly indicated in writing and print- 
ing by punctuation. You will also discover the im- 
perfections of our limited scale of " stops," and how 
impossible it is to observe them strictly. Above they 
are presented precisely as they appear in the authorized 
edition of the Bible. Mark the rule laid down by the 
8 



114 Illustrations. 

grammars, that you should count one for a comma, two 
for a semicolon, and so forth, and see how miserably it 
fails to express the meaning. Read the same passage 
now with the natural pauses, as required by the sense, 
and you will at once recognize the justice of the com- 
plaint preferred against the artificial system of punctua- 
tion. In the absence of any established series of signs 
for pauses, I will indicate them — though imperfectly, I 
fear — by lines between the words, the various lengths 
of which will rudely measure the various lengths of 
pause. 

"In the beginning God created the heaven and 

the earth And the earth was without form and 

void and darkness was upon the face of the deep 

- and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the 

waters And God said Let there be light 

and there was light And God saw the light that 

it was good And God divided the light from the 

- darkness And God called the light Day — and the 

darkness he called Night And the evening and 

the morning were the first day." 

Observe that, so far, your reading must be carefully 
limited to pronunciation and pause, purposely avoiding 
emphasis and variations of the voice. You should now 
read the same passage again, as before, but introducing 
emphasis. The words to be emphasized, are printed in 
italic, small capitals, and CAPITALS, according to the 
less or more of stress to be put upon them. 

"In the beginning GOD created the heaven and 



Illustrations. 115 

the earth And the earth was without form and void 

and darkness was upon the face of the deep and 

the Spirit of GOD moved upon the face of the waters 

And God said Let there be LIGHT ! and 

there was light And God saw the light 

that it was good And God divided the light from 

the darkness And God called the light day — and the 

darkness he called night And the evening and the 

morning were the first day." 

You will now have learned the effect of emphasis. 
Repeat the experiment, adding to pause and emphasis the 
observance of tone, according to the hints given in a 
former letter. But it is impracticable to represent or 
even to suggest tone by any signs. I can only, there- 
fore, so far prompt you as to say that the natural tone in 
which to express a grand and solemn theme is as deep, 
full, and rich as 3-ou can make it. Indeed, if 3-011 feel 
what you utter, the tone will, without an effort, express 
the emotion. 

Once again read the passage, observing all the former 
graces of pause, emphasis, and tone, adding to them 
inflection of the voice, which may be compared to the 
swell of an organ. The rise and fall of the sounds you 
utter, their swelling or sinking according to the require- 
ments of the sense, are the crowning charm of good 
reading, for by them monotony is put to flight, and the 
ears of the audience are caught and held. I have en- 
deavored to exhibit inflection by some intelligible signs ; 
but I have been unable to devise to my own satisfaction 
any that would be within the compass of a printing-office 



1 1 6 Illustrations. 

to produce. I must be content, therefore, with a running 
commentary upon the successive sentences. 

" In the beginning GOD created the heaven and 

the EARTH." 

The voice should descend two or three notes at the 
word GOD, because it should be pronounced reveren- 
tially, and veneration expresses itself naturally in low, 
rich notes. 

Then it should rise and be sustained evenly to the end, 
followed by a long pause. 

a And the earth was without form and void and 

darkness was upon the face of the deep And the 

Spirit of GOD moved upon the face of the waters." 

Here the voice is to be sustained throughout with no 
inflection, not even falling at the close. Only observe 
the pauses and the emphasis. 

« And GOD said Let there be LIGHT ! And 

there was light." 

Here the inflection changes thrice. Beginning with 
the tone and key of the previous sentence, these should 
be sustained to mark still more strongly the change to 
the tone of command, which should be uttered in a low, 
and slow voice, very firmly, and with a marked stress on 
the word " Light." It is important to observe that this 
word should be uttered with the upward inflection; that 
is to say, with the voice elevated above the pitch used in 



Illustrations. 



117 



the former part of the sentence. Then follows a long 
pause, and then, in a tone considerably lower, the con- 
cluding sentence, strongly emphasizing "was," and 
gently dropping the voice (the downward inflection) to 
the end. 

Then raise the voice to its former note for the next 
sentence. 

" And God saw^e light that it was good And 

God divided the light from the darkness And God 

called the light day — and the darkness he called night 

And the evening and the morning were the first 

day." 

Here you should mark the distinction between the first 
part, "And God saw," etc., and the second part, " And 
God divided," etc., by a slight change in tone, the latter 
part being spoken half a note lower than the first ; and in 
both, the voice should gently fall at the close, the object 
being to break the monotony of a continued narrative, 
and also to give more prominence by contrast to the 
sentence that follows, which also must be read in the 
same note 'throughout, relying for variety upon the em- 
phasis and the pauses, which are very marked. Then 
comes a change. The narrative is completed ; the story 
is told ; you indicate this by a long pause, and then, in a 
different voice, descending one note at least, you con- 
clude the passage. 

I am conscious of the inefficiency of this verbal and 
typical illustration of the suggestions I had previously 
thrown out, and I fear that it will not be very intelligible 
to you. The difficulty of doing what I had designed is 



n8 Illustrations of 

far greater than I had anticipated ; and if you should find 
the lesson an obscure one, pass it over. I cannot, how- 
ever, suffer it to rest here ; I must adduce some further 
illustrations, although I shall be enabled to be more brief 
in explanation of them, and shall not need the repetitions 
unavoidable for the first explanation, in writing, of that 
which speech alone can properly convey. 



better SIS* 

ILLUSTBATIONS OF TONE, EMPHASIS, AND PAUSE. 

Some further illustrations will be necessary to enable 
you to comprehend clearly the hints I have thrown out to 
you. I felt considerable misgivings whether the device I 
had adopted for exhibiting the variations of utterance, by 
help of the printer's art, would not more puzzle than assist 
the reader. It is satisfactory to learn, however, that the 
plan has been sufficient for its purpose, and that readers 
have found no difficulty in following the instructions so 
conveyed. The same notation will be preserved through- 
out the following illustrations. But it will not be neces- 
sary to repeat the practice of successive readings of the 
same passage, each introducing an additional ornament, 
as in the lesson contained in the last letter. If that be 
read eight or ten times, strictly observing the method 
proposed, you cannot fail to arrive at the most perfect 
comprehension of the nature as well as the value of each 



Tone ' y Emphasis y and Pause. 119 

of those requisites to the art of reading. I shall now, 
therefore, merely present the illustrations as scored for 
practice, and then endeavor to state the reasons for such 
readings ; and those reasons will often serve as examples 
of former remarks ; for, let it be a firm faith with you, 
that unless }^ou can assign a reason for reading a passage 
in one way rather than in another way, you cannot be a 
good reader, — you will read only by imitation and not by 
the impulse of your own mind. 

And here I may tell you an anecdote that has been 
conveyed, to me, which is interesting as confirmatory of 
an observation made in a former letter, to the effect that, 
if a person reads badly, it is because he does not under- 
stand what he reads. That so it is appears from the fact, 
that almost everybody talks rightty. Rarely do we hear 
the wrong emphasis in conversation ; yet the very man 
who gives to every word he utters the right expression, 
when he is talking, will give the wrong expression to 
three-fourths of his words when he is reading. The reason 
of this strange defect is, that when he talks he under- 
stands what he is saying, and the voice echoes the mind ; 
when he reads, either his mind is not at work upon the 
words, or it does not catch at the moment the sense of 
what he reads, and reading becomes a mere mechanical 
operation, — an utterance by rote, — the words going in at 
the eye, and coming out at the tongue, without passing 
through the intelligent mind. 

My informant is a sensible man, who has imbibed the 
modern heresy that reading is an accomplishment at least 
as desirable, and likely to be as useful in life, as singing ; 
and accordingly he has spared no pains to preserve his 
children from learning to read badly. His notion is — 



120 Illustrations of 

and he is right — that the bad habits acquired in child- 
hood, in the performance of the merely mechanical art of 
sounding printed words, without understanding the ideas 
they are designed to convey, are the foundation of bad 
reading in after life. Assuming this, he has taken read-* 
ing as the test and measure of intelligence in children. 
Esteeming so highly the art of reading, it is natural that 
any experiences of others on the subject should interest 
him, and that any hints of which he approved should be 
conveyed to his family. Thinking well of some which he 
has found in these letters, he has endeavored to make a 
practical use of them, and they have been conveyed to 
his pupils as they appear here. The last letter, contain- 
ing some illustrations of the previous suggestions, was 
accordingly produced to the family circle, when my in- 
formant bethought him that he would test the capacities 
of the little group around him by calling upon each to' 
read the same passage from the Book of Genesis, markihg 
in another volume, after the same fashion, the manner in 
which it was read by the child according to his own nat- 
ural impulse, and then comparing them, so as to ascertain 
how far the natural reading of the child coincided with 
the reading proposed in this essay. The test, he says, 
was perfect ; precisely in proportion to the little reader's 
natural intelligence was the reading more or less in 
unison with that here suggested. He found by further 
trial that, where they read wrongly, invariably they did 
not understand the meaning of what they were reading ; 
and one little boy, whose intelligence is remarkable, read 
the entire passage aloud for the first time, and his natural 
and untaught expression of it was found in almost precise 
accordance with the studied and reasoned mode of utter- 



Tone, Emphasis, and Pause. 121 

aiice which I had suggested. This experiment is interest- 
ing and valuable, because it was tried with children who 
had acquired no bad habits, and therefore it proves how 
much more nature does than art can do towards making a 
good reader, and confirms the assertion that the art of 
reading consists mainly in understanding what you read. 
The experiment could not have been tried by adults, 
because none are to be found who have not acquired some 
evil habits of reading in their school-days, which cleave 
to them still, or which they have been enabled to conquer 
only by calling in the aid -of art. 

I would earnestly recommend other parents to follow 
the example of my friend, — to keep vigilant guard over 
the first lessons in reading ; to prohibit the reading aloud 
of anything not understood, and to take misreading as a 
certain test of misunderstanding. Be sure that your 
pupil understands, and 3'ou may be assured that he will 
read. 

I make no apology for this interposition. I was treat- 
ing an old subject after a new fashion, and, as I pro- 
ceeded, not only did new thoughts upon it arise in my 
own mind, but suggestions were sent to me by readers 
who took an interest in the theme. This, as I told you 
before, is not a formal treatise, but a friendly communi- 
cation of the result of some experience and reflection on 
a subject whose real worth is only beginning to be 
acknowledged by the public. 

There is not a better illustration of the suggestions 
that have been submitted to you than Hamlet's famous 
soliloquy. Its very familiarity will, perhaps, recommend 
it for practice, because it is almost certain to be associated 
in your mind with readings at school, and you will more 



122 Illustrations of 

readily see the propriety of one by contrast with the 
other. I preserve the same notation. 

Eemember that Hamlet has just seen the spirit of his 
father, who has told him that his father-in4aw was a 
murderer. He is not quite assured whether or no it was 
" an honest ghost ; " if it was not " an instrument of 
darkness" tempting him to a horrible crime. He is 
sorely perplexed, seeking eagerly for some assurance that 
the story supernaturally imparted to him was true. 

Now, to read the soliloquy correctly, you must feel it, 
and to feel it you must throw your mind into much the 
same condition as that in which the mind of Hamlet is 
supposed to be at the moment he is communing with 
himself, — for it is a soliloquy, and not a speech addressed 
to others ; and a soliloquy is only thinking aloud, and 
should be so read or acted. It is manifest, moreover, 
that he had been contemplating suicide as a refuge from 
doubts and perplexities. The voice should be low in 
tone, with sadness of expression; the utterances slow — 
the pauses long at first, for he is assumed to be reflecting. 

" To be — or not to be that is the question 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind .to suffer 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles 

And — by opposing — end them ? To DIE ? — To sleep 

No more — and by a sleep to say we end 

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to ' Tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be iqished To die to sleep — 

To SLEEP ! Perchance to DREAM ! '— Ay, there's the rn& — 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil 

Must give us pause There's the respect 

That makes calamity of so long a life." 



Tone, Emphasis, and Pause. 123 

Read slowly so far. The next passage should be read 
rapidly, for is not Hamlet pouring out quick coming 
fancies, as if to strengthen his own failing resolution? — 

u For who would bear the whips and scorns of time — 

The oppressor's wrong the proud man's contumely — — 

The pangs of despised love the law's delay — 

The insolence of office — and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life " 

Now more slowly — in an altered, lower, fuller tone, 
expressive of deeper feeling, and even of awe : — 



" But that the dread of something after death 

That undiscovered country — from whose bourn 

No traveller returns puzzles the will - 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
Than fly to others that we know not of." 

Now change your tone again, for there is another strain 
of thought. He is half ashamed of his own fears and the 
conjurings of his own imagination ; and he thus chides 
himself: — 

"Thus conscience does make cowards of us all 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought — 
And enterprises of great pith and moment 
With this regard their currents turn away 
And lose the name of action." 

There is so much good practice in this exercise, that 
you should read it again and again until you are perfect 
in it. 



1 24 Illustrations Continued. 

Hetter XX* 

ILLTJSTBATIONS CONTINUED. 

From the same storehouse of illustration I present yon 
with another, in prose. Observe that, unlike the last, 
which was a soliloquy, this is addressed to others, and 
demands, therefore, quite a different tone, — more rapid 
utterance, more firmness and decision in the entire 
expression of it. The last was a meditation merely, 
requiring long pauses between different trains of thought, 
and tones accommodated to the changing moods of the 
mind. The following address to the players is purely 
didactic, or, I should rather say, exhortative. The dan- 
ger to be avoided here is dogmatism or sermonizing. 
Hamlet is not la} r ing down the law, like a judge, but 
advising as a friend. He is not a pedagogue, but a 
gentleman, and you must assume the most gentlemanly, 
polite, and polished manner of expression that you can 
command. If not satisfied with your reading of it at 
first, repeat it many times, until you feel that you read 
with ease and grace. Better still if you can find an 
intelligent friend to hear j^ou read it, and tell you what 
you read well, and where you are defective. I adopt the 
same notation as before. Observe, that this passage is 
not at all oratorical. It is not a " speech." You are not 
to " spout " it, but to talk it with spirit and emphasis : — 

" Speak the speech — I pray you — as I pronounced it to 

y 0U trippingly on the tongue But if you mouth 

it — as many of our players do — I had as lief the town- 



Illustrations Continued. 125 

crier spoke my lines Nor do not saw the air too 

much with your hand thus but use all gently 

for in the very torrent tempest — and — as I 

may say whirlwind of your passion you must 

acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth- 

ness Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a 

robustious — periivig-pated fellow tear a passion to tat- 
ters — to very rags - to split the ears of the ground- 
lings— —who — for the most part — are capable of noth- 
ing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise 1 

would have such a fellow whipped for overdoing Terma- 
gant it out-Herods Herod Pray you avoid 

it Be not too tame — neither but let your 

own discretion be your tutor suit the action to 

the word the word to the action with this 

special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty 

of nature for anything so overdone is from the 

purpose of playing whose end both at the first 

— and now ivas and is to hold — as 

'twere — the mirror up to nature to show virtue — 

her own feature scorn — her own imager and the 

very age and body of the time his form and pressure 

Now this overdone or come tardy off 

though it make the unskilful laugh cannot but make 

the judicious — grieve the censure of which one 

must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole the- 
atre of others Oh ! there be players — that I have 

seen play and heard others praise and that 

highly not to speak it profanely that neither 

having the accent of Christians nor the gait of 

Christian — pagan — nor MAN have so strutted 

and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's 



126 Illustrations Continued. 

journeymen had made men and not made them 

well they imitated humanity so ABOMINABLY 

And let those that play your clowns speak no more 

than is set dovm for them for there be of them that 

will themselves laugh to set on some quantity of 

barren spectators to laugh too though — in the mean 

time some necessary question of the play be then to 

be considered that's VILLANOUS and 

shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it." 

The next is also familiar to you, although, it may be, 
you never attempted to depart from the fashion of read- 
ing it acquired in your school-boy days. Macbeth, con- 
templating an atrocious murder, is haunted by a whisper 
of conscience, and by some " compunctious visi tings of 
nature." His state is that of dreamy horror ; his speech 
accords with it. There must be long pauses and deep 
tones, with an expression almost of pain in them. Ob- 
serve, also, that it is a soliloquy, and therefore to be 
uttered in a manner more distrait than was required in 
the last illustration. 

" Is this a dagger which I see before me 

The handle toward my hand ? Come let me clutch thee ! — 

I have thee, not and yet I see thee still — — • 

Art thou not — fatal vision — sensible 

To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 

A dagger of the mind a false creation 

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? — — — 
I see thee yet — inform as palpable 

As this which now I draw 

Thou marshaVst me the way that I was going 
And such an instrument i" was to use 



Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses — 
Or else worth all the rest 1 see thee still n 



Illustrations Continued. 127 

Here, with increasing terror in his tone, and with the 
growing rapidity of utterance that always accompanies 
terror. 

" And on thy blade — and dudgeon gouts of blood 

Which was not so before " 

Here a long pause, and an entire change of tone. To 
this point Macbeth has believed in the vision, and is pro- 
foundly awed by it ; and the tones should express the 
horror and dread of the situation. But now he recovers 
his self-command ; his reason triumphs over his fancy ; he 
speaks in a lighter tone, and resuming his natural man- 
ner, he proceeds : — 

" There's no such thing — 



It is the bloody business which informs 
Thus to mine eyes " 

Then another change ; his fancy flies to the tragedy he 
is about to enact ; the mention of the bloody business 
sends him out of himself; he plays, as it were, with the 
thought, and conjures up all the images suggested by the 
occasion, for still he lingers and cannot quite make up 
his mind. " I dare not," even at this moment, is waiting 
upon " I would," and, in the pause that attends his en- 
deavor to u screw his courage to the sticking-point," he 
says again, in a reflective, dreamy tone : — 

" Now o'er the one-half world 

Nature seems dead and wicked dreams abuse 

The curtained sleeper ! witchcraft celebrates 

Pale Hecate's offerings and withered murder 

Alarum'd by his sentinel — the wolf — 

Whose howVs his watch thus — with his stealthy pace — 



128 Illustrations Continued. 

With Tarquin's ravishing strides towards his design 
Moves like a ghost." 

Again a change. His resolve is somewhat strengthened 
now ; he has made up his mind to do it ; but not without 
still betraying his infirmity of purpose. In his agony of 
conflicting emotions, he addresses the earth. The voice 
must be deep and sepulchral, but slightly tremulous : — 

" Thou sure and firm-set earth, 
Hear not my steps — which way they walk — for fear 
The very stones prate of my whereabout 
And take the present horror from the time 
Which now suits with it " 

Once more a change. It is settled ; each corporal agent 
is at length bent up to the terrible feat. 

" Whiles I threat — he lives — 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives — 

I go and it is done the bell invites me 

Hear it not Duncan for it is a knell # 

That summons thee to heaven- or to hell*" 

Remember that the purpose of these illustrations is to 
show you the right use of emphasis , pause, and tone, and 
these can only be exhibited by a variety of passages on 
various subjects and in various styles. I ask you now to 
read another well-known composition, " The Burial of 
Sir John Moore." The notation is continued. 

The reading of poetry, as such, will be the subject of a 
separate commentary hereafter. The following poem is 
submitted to you as a lesson in those graces of reading 
that are common to compositions of all kinds. The 
subject of this poem demands a serious and somewhat 



Illustrations Continued. 129 

solemn mood of the reader's mind, and as the mind is, so 
will be the tones of the voice, without an effort of your 
own. There is much use of emphasis and pause through- 
out, but little or no variation of manner. Great feeling 
should be thrown into it, and when well read, there are 
few passages in English literature more effective. It 
never fails to touch, and therefore to please, an audience, 
however miscellaneous. 

" Not a drum was heard not a funeral note 

As his corse to the ramparts we hurried 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 



O'er the grave where our hero we buried - 



" We buried him darkly at dead — of night 

The sods with our bayonets turning 

By the struggling moonbeams 1 misty light 
And the lantern — dimly burning 

u No useless coffin enclosed his breast 

Nor in sheet — nor in shroud — we wound him 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest 

With his martial cloak around him. 

u Few and short were the prayers we said 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow 

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the DEAD — 
And bitterly thought of the morrow 

" We thought ■ as we hollowed his narrow bed 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow 

How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head 
And we far away on the billow ! 

4t Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him 



But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on 

In the grave where a Briton hath laid him. 

9 



130 Illustrations Continued. 

ft But half of our heavy task was done 

When the clock told the hour for retiring — 
And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

" Slowly and sadly we laid him down 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory / 
We carved not a line — we raised not a stone ■ 
But we left him ALONE in his GLORY." 

The last two lines must be read with increased empha- 
sis, — very slowly, — the voice slightly elevated, and in a 
tone changing from sadness to triumph. Repeat them 
many times, until you are enabled to give to this fine 
verse its full expression. I can but faintly convey it to 
you by types and dashes. 



SLetter ££■!♦ 

ILLTJSTBATIONS CONTINUED. 

I ask you now to study one of the most difficult read- 
ings in our language ; therefore, excellent practice. It 
was, indeed, never read to perfect satisfaction save by one 
actor and reader, — Charles Kemble. To estimate its 
difficulties, you should first read it right on, as if it were 
an ordinary narrative, not regarding effect. Then read it 
with care, designing to give to every word its right 
expression ; you will be surprised to find how dissatisfied 
you are with your own performance. 

Observe, that it is an exquisite piece of pleasantry, by 



Illustrations Continued. 131 

a professed wit. It is not humorous, nor farcical, but 
admirably fanciful and witty. Therefore it is not to be 
blurted out, like a bit of fun, nor cracked, like a joke ; it 
should be spoken in a light, laughing, musical tone, with 
the manner of a polished gentleman. A smile should just- 
hover upon the lips, but never breaking into a laugh. 
Nor is it a soliloquy, but a story told to companions as 
cheerful and light-hearted as the teller. This manner of 
reading it I cannot illustrate ; I can only suggest it to 
you ; the pauses and the emphasis I exhibit as before. 



" Oh — .— then I see — Queen mab hath been with you 

She is the fairies' midwife and she comes 

In shape no bigger than an agate stone 

On the/orefmger of an alderman 

Drawn with a team of little atomies 

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep 

Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners 1 legs — — 

The cover of the wings of grasshoppers 

The traces of the smallest spider's web 

The collars of the moonshine's watery beams -: — 

Her whip of cricket's bone the lash of film — 

Her WAGONER a small gray-coated GNAT - 

Not half so big as a round little worm 

Piick'd from the lazy finger of a maid 

Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut 

Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub 

Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers 



And in this state she gallops night by night 

Through lovers' brains and then they dream of love — 

On courtiers' knees that dream on court' sies straight 

O'er lawyers' fingers who straight dream on fees — — 

O'er ladies' lips who straight on kisses dream — 

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues 

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are 

Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose 

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit =- 

And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail 



132 Illustrations Continued. 

Tickling a person's nose as a' lies asleep 

Then dreams he of another benefice 

Sometimes she dri^eth o'er a soldier's neck 

And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats •- 

Of breaches ambuscadoes Spanish blades — 

Of healths — five fathoms deep and then anon 

Drums in his ear at which he starts — and wakes — 

And — being thus frighted swears a prayer or two 

And sleeps again This is that very Mab 

That plats the manes of horses in the night 

And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs 

Which once untangled much misfortune bodes ■ 



This exquisite passage of wit is to be pronounced 
" trippingly on the tongue," and not to be mouthed. It 
should be spoken as lightly as such a light-hearted fellow 
as Mercutio would utter a piece of pleasantry. He is 
addressing three or four of his gay companions, and he 
turns from one to the other, as he points the illustration 
to each of them individually ; therefore, it is not spoken 
right on, like a speech, but with frequent and long pauses, 
and with such slight hesitations as serve to show that it is 
an invention of the moment and not a composition com- 
mitted to the memory. The difficulty of the passage is 
very great, and grows with acquaintance. After twenty 
readings you will be less satisfied with your rendering of 
it than at the first. But persevere. It is because of its 
difficulty that I have selected it for an exercise. When 
you are able to read this well, you will have made great 
progress in the art. Do not leave it until you have mas- 
tered it. I do not desire that j^ou should read this, or 
any other of these illustrations, twenty times in one day ; 
you would not improve by such rapid repetitions ; but 
read them three or four times at a sitting, and repeat 
them day by day for weeks, until you, or your friendly 



Illustrations Continued. 133 

counsellor, shall be completely satisfied with the per- 
formance. 

I will now take you to another passage — short, but 
demanding extraordinary expression to give full effect 
to it. This, also, was deemed by Mr. Thelwall to be a 
test-passage, and he read it with wonderful power. 
Rightly to measure it, begin by reading it without any 
emphasis, simply uttering the words with the proper 
pauses. Then read it with emphasis, observing, as nearly 
as you can, the noting here given : — 

"And the Lord sent Nathan unto David and he 

came unto him and said unto him There were two 

men in one city the one rich — and the other — poor 

The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds 

— but the poor man had nothing save one — little — 

ewe lamb which he had bought and nourished up 

and it grew up together with him and with his children 

it did eat of his own meat and drank of his 

own cup and lay in his bosom and was unto him 

as a daughter And there came a traveller unto the 

rich man and he spared to take of his own flock and 

of his own herd — to dress for the wayfaring man that 

was come unto him but took — the poor man's 

LAMB and dressed it for the man that was come to him. 

" And David's anger was greatly kindled against the 

man and he said to Nathan — ' As THE LORD 

liveth — the man that hath done this thing shall surely 

DIE and he shall restore the lamb fourfold 

because he did this thing and because he had no 
pity'— 



134 Illustrations Continued. 

"And Nathan said to David -'THOU art 

the man ! ' " 

Few passages could be found in which so much em- 
phasis is required in the same number of words ; indeed, 
it is difficult to distinguish the degrees, where most of 
them require some expression. Although typography 
limits me to three degrees of emphasis in the notation, 
the actual varieties required for a perfectly correct reading 
are much more numerous ; but I must leave them to your 
own good taste and true ear. If you feel fully the mean- 
ing, you wili probably give it the right degree of force in 
the utterance. But not varied emphasis alone is de- 
manded ; you must observe the varieties of tone, which 
the notation does not attempt to indicate. The prophet 
begins with a narrative, in the nature of a complaint. It 
is not a mere story told to amuse or inform ; but he has 
a mission, — he is about to judge the guilty king out of 
his own mouth, and the grandeur of his mission would 
influence the tone of the voice and the manner of the utter- 
ance. Slowly, gravely, almost solemnly, should you 
speak what Nathan spoke. Beginning thus, the contrast 
becomes more marked as you proceed. Sorrow should 
just tinge the tone at the opening ; but this should 
change to positive tenderness in the description of the 
lamb ; not abruptly, but melting by imperceptible shades. 
This is excellent study, and you should persevere until 
the very marked tone of pity is perfectly acquired. You 
change again to sternness, colored with indignation, when 
describing the conduct of the rich man. The tone should 
be that of anger not quite repressed, speaking louder 
and somewhat more rapidly towards the close. Then 



Illustrations Continued. 135 

comes David's exclamation — his rage flashing out sud- 
denly, rapidly, and unrestrained, in a voice louder than 
that of the prophet, in a tone almost of fury, and rising 
towards the climax, when he pronounces the doom of 
death, with an emphasis far beyond any yet employed. 
Then a long pause, while the prophet might be supposed 
to be looking full into the face of the angry king, watch- 
ing the flash of indignation in his eyes, and then, the 
grand catastrophe — slowly, majestically, with a full, not 
a loud, utterance — resting and concentrating all the 
force of 3'our expression upon the word Thou, leave the 
other words to drop from your lips without an effort, only 
again slightly increasing the emphasis with the final word. 

I might multiply these examples indefinite^ ; but 
space is limited, and I must restrict myself to so many as 
are necessary to exhibit the most marked varieties of 
reading. A lesson in pathos will complete the series of 
illustrations of tone, emphasis, and pause. I take the 
description of the death of little Paul Dombey from 
Dickens. 

Read it slowly, in low, soft tones, throwing into them 
that indescribable expression to which has been given the 
name of pathetic. To express those tones you must feel 
those emotions ; then they will speak in their own natural 
language, and kindle sympathetic feelings in every 
listener. 

Observe, also, that it must be read easily, quietly, 
without an effort, with no seeking after effect ; but pre- 
cisely as you would have told such a story. If at times 
the voice should quiver, and the eye swell with a tear, so 
much the better. It will be the more truthful. 



136 Illustrations Continued. 

" Paul closed his eyes with those words and fell asleep 
• Then he awoke — the sun was high and the 



broad day was clear and warm He lay a little — 

looking at the windows — which were open — and the cur- 
tains rustling in the air and waving to and fro 

Then he said 'Floy — is it to-morrow? — is she 

come ? ' 

" Some one seemed to go in quest of her The 

next thing that happened was a noise of footsteps on the 

stairs and then — Paul woke — woke mind and 

body and sat upright in his bed He saw them 

now about him There was no gray mist before them 

as there had been sometimes in the night He 

knew them every one and called them by their names 

'And loho is this? — Is this my old nurse? 9 — 

asked the child regarding with a radiant smile a 

figure coming in Yes — Yes No other stranger 

would have shed those tears at sight of him called 

him her dear boy — her pretty boy her own — poor — 

blighted child No other woman would have stooped 

down by his bed and taken up his ivasted hand — and 

put it to her lips and breast as one who had some 

right to fondle it No other woman would have so for- 
gotten everjHbody there — but him and Floy — and been 
so full of tenderness and pity. 

" ' Floy ! this is a kind — good face 1 am glad to 

see it again Don't go away — old nurse Stay 

here — Good-by ! ' 

" ' Good-by — my child \ — cried Mrs. Pipchin — hurry- 
ing to the bed's head c Not good-by ! ' 

" ' Ah, yes good by ! "Where's papa ? ' . 

" He felt his father's breath upon his cheek before the 



Illustrations Continued. 137 

words had parted from his lips- The feeble hand ■ 

waved — in the air as if it cried — 6 good-by ' again. 

' ' ; Now lay me down and — Floy come 

close to me and let me — see 3^011 ! ' 

" Sister and Brother wound their arms around each 

other and the golden light came streaming in • 

and fell upon them locked together. 

"'How/as^ the river runs — between its green bank 

and the rushes — Floy! -But it's very near the sea 

1 hear the waves ! They always said 

so!' 

" Presently he told her that the motion of the hoot upon 

the stream was lulling him to rest How green the 

banks were now how bright the flozvers growing on 

them how tall the rushes! Now The 

boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly on ■ 

And now -there was a shore before him vjho 

stood on the bank ? 

" He put his hands together -as he had been used 

to do, at his prayers He did not remove his arms 

to do it but they saiv him fold them so behind 

his sister's neck. 

" ' Mamma is like you Floy 1 know her by the 

face But — tell them that the picture — on the 

stairs — at school is not Divine enough The 

light about the head is shining on me as I go ! ' " 

Here a long pause with hushed breath. Then, in a 
deeper and more solemn tone, and very slowly : — 

"The golden ripple on the wall came back again 
and nothing else stirred in the room The old — 



138 Illustrations Continued. 

OLD fashion the fashion that came in with 

our first garments and will last unchanged until our 

race has run its course and the wide firmament is 

rolled up like a scroll The old — OLD — fashion 

DEATH!" 

Then change the tone and expression to those of 
glowing exultation, raising the voice and swelling the 
chest, and closing with the imploring accents of praj^er. 

44 Oh! thank GOD all w T ho see it for that 

older fashion yet of IMMORTALITY «And 

look upon us Angels of young children with 

regards not quite estranged when the swift river bears 

us also to the Ocean ! " 

Remark, that the words spoken by little Dombey are 
to be uttered in a low voice, scarcely rising above a 
whisper, and in broken tones, with frequent pauses — for 
he is dying. 

I next proceed to give some suggestions for the 
reading of certain classes of composition, — as poetry, 
dialogue, oratory, etc. 



How to Read Poetry. 139 

ILtiitx X£0* 

HOW TO BEAD POETBY. 

Some murder poetry by singing it, and some by setting 
aside the rhythm, the metre, and the rhyme, and reading 
it as they would read an advertisement in a newspaper. 
Of these two besetting faults, prefer the former, however 
nasal the twang. There is at least the consciousness of 
the presence of poetry, — evidence of an ear, if not of a 
taste, for it. But the prosaic reader revolts you by the 
unequivocal proof he gives, with every word he utters, 
that he has neither taste nor ear, and that poetry to him 
is nothing more than dislocated prose. 

The singing of poetry is the reader's most frequent 
fault. Usually it is a habit acquired in very early child- 
hood, the consequence of bad training by the teacher of 
the nursery rhymes that commonly constitute the child's 
first exercise of the memory, too often afterwards culti- 
vated by the successive tutors who undertake the task of 
teaching to read. Metre and rlryine are sore tempations 
to an uncultivated voice. Probably the natural impulse 
is to convert them into music. And it must be admitted 
that music and poetry are very nearly allied. Poetry 
(I am speaking now of the mechanical part of it) is 
modified music ; perhaps it might be termed imperfect 
music. Analyze them. Music is an array of inarticulate 
lengthened sounds, divided into even periods of time. 
Poetry is an array of articulate sounds or words, divided 
into even accentuations instead of even periods of time. 



140 How to Read Poetry. 

These characteristics of song and music run so nearly 
together, that there is in most of us a decided tendency 
to pass from one to the other, or to substitute the one for 
the other ; and thus accentuations come to be exchanged 
for time, and the articulate word lapses into the musical 
note. This explains the process by which the reading 
of poetry is so often converted into the singing of it ; 
and indeed the mischief can be prevented only by the 
exercise of most vigilant care by the first instructors 
of childhood. The lisping boy chants the nursery rhyme 
without correction, and thus lays the foundation of a 
habit which subsequent teachers will but too probably 
strengthen, and which it will be the arduous work of his 
maturity to imlearn. 

Therefore, before you begin to learn to read poetry, 
ascertain if you are infected by the evil habit of singing 
it, for until that is entirely subdued, progress is hopeless. 
Your own ear will not help you in this investigation, for 
it has been perverted also, and has ceased to inform the 
mind of the fact. You cannot so hear yourself as to sit 
in judgment on yourself, — at least until another has 
listened and pointed out your defects to you, and you 
learn from his instructions .where you err. Call in, then, 
the aid of a judicious friend ; ask him to hearken while 
you read a few short passages from poetry in various 
metres, and instruct him that, with most resolute disre- 
gard of the danger of wounding your self-love, he must 
stop you on the way, and tell you of every lapse into 
song, sing-song, or chant. He must be inflexible in his 
criticism, or you will not mend. Score with a pencil in 
the book the lines or words of which he complains. If 
he is apt at imitation, ask him to show you, by his own 



How to Read Poetry. 141 

voice, the manner of your reading. Afterwards, when 
alone, read the same passages again from the scored 
page, carefully avoiding the faults he had told you of as 
attaching to the words marked by the pencil, and repeat 
them several times. A few lessons, thus learned, sub- 
mitting the same passages to the judgment of your lis- 
tener, will enable you to avoid the most offensive features 
of the evil habit. But be not impatient. As the mis- 
chief was early implanted, has been long cherished and 
grown with your growth, it will not be cured without 
much care and perseverance ; and, however tedious the 
delay, do not abandon the task until it is thoroughly 
achieved. It will not be time wholly lost. Having once 
unlearned, the task of learning will be comparatively 
easy. 

Thus, having learned how poetry ought not to be read, 
you will proceed to learn how it ought to be read. You 
must not sing it ; you must not chant it ; you must not 
drawl it ; you must not ignore the metre and the rhyme ; 
you must not make prose of it. What, then, are you to 
do with it? 

Read it so that metre, rhythm, and rhyme may be made 
sensible to the listener's ear, but without giving promi- 
nence to either. The difference between the readiing of 
poetry and prose lies in this, — that you mark by your 
voice the peculiar characteristics of poetry. You must 
observe the metre, not altogether by intoning it, but by 
the very gentlest inflection of the voice ; you must indi- 
cate the rhythm by a more melodious utterance, and the 
rhyme by a slight — very slight — emphasis placed upon 
it. The rule is plain enough ; the difficulty lies in pre- 
serving the right degree of expression. I cannot convey 



142 How to Read Poetry. 

this to you by words ; it can be taught only by examples. 
Your ear should guide you, and would do so, if it were 
not perverted by bad habits. But, as those habits are 
probably formed, I can but advise you to do for this as 
for so many other ingredients of the art: if you have 
not a judicious friend, who will hear patiently and tell 
you of your faults frankly, apply to a professional teacher. 

But there are some frequent errors, of which I may 
usefully warn you. 

Avoid set pauses. Some readers, otherwise skilful, 
will make a pause at precisely the same point in the 
metre of each line, whether the sense does or does not 
require it. This is not merely monotonous, — it is wrong. 
In the reading of poetry, as of prose, the sound must be 
subordinate to the sense. Although there is a measuring 
of words in poetry, there is no measure for the pauses : 
you must pause wheresoever the sense demands a pause, 
without regard to the apparent exigencies of metre or 
rhyme. If that pause so falls that it disturbs the melody 
of the verse, or the harmony of the rhyme, you should 
preserve them b} r so managing your voice that, after the 
pause, it shall resume in the self-same tone with which it 
rested, just reminding the hearer of the music of the 
verse, as an added charm to the beauty of the thought. 
Then, again, shun carefully the still more frequent prac- 
tice of pausing at the end of each line, regardless of the 
requirement of the thought. It is not merely a school- 
boy's jest that ridicules this sort of reading by the ex- 
cellent illustration of 

u My name is Norval on the Grampian Hills 

My father kept his flock a frugal swain 

Whose constant care was to increase his store 



How to Read Poetry. 143 



And keep his only son myself at home — — 

For I had heard of battles and I longed 

To follow to the field some warlike lord 

And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied." 

Not a few who think they read well, and who do read 
prose well, completely fail when they attempt to read 
poetry, because of this propensity to measure every line. 
And there is another fault frequently associated with it, 
which has the same origin, and is equally difficult to con- 
quer, — that is, reading in a " wavy " manner, — I can 
find no better phrase for it. I mean that regular swell 
and fall of the voice in accordance with the metre, into 
which the unpractised appear to lapse unconsciously. 
Until you have succeeded in banishing this dreary fault,, 
you will not read pleasantly, and the probable effect of 
your measured tones will be to send your audience to 
sleep. But as to this also take warning that it is very 
difficult of cure. The best course of treatment, in addi- 
tion to that already recommended, is to fill your mind 
with the meaning of the poet, and to resolve to give full 
expression to that meaning, forgetting, as far as you 
can, the metrical arrangement of the words in which the 
thoughts are conveyed. If your mind dwells too much 
upon the words, you will sing them ; but if it is filled 
with the ideas, you will read them. 

There is one rule worth noting. The gravest clanger in 
the reading of poetry is monotony. You must strive by 
all means to avoid this, and resort to every aid to give 
spirit and variety to your voice. Change its tone with 
every change in the thought to be expressed. Throw 
gayety into it when the theme is cheerful, and pathos 
when it is sad. Abandon yourself to the spirit of the 



144 Haw to Read Poetry. 

poet, and let your utterance be the faithful echo of his, 
even when he rises to rapture. Do not fear to overact ; 
there is little chance of this becoming a fault in the read- 
ing of poetry. Mould your style to his. This you can- 
not do, of course, without thoroughly understanding him, 
and for that purpose it will not suffice to trust to the 
apprehension of the moment, or even to a hasty previous 
reading ; you must study him, line by line, and word by 
word, until you have mastered his full meaning, and then 
you will be able to give effect to it when you convey it to 
an audience. 

Observe, likewise, that, as a rule, you should raise your 
voice at a pause, instead of dropping it, as is the frequent 
habit, and especially if that pause falls at the end of a 
line. I have already remarked upon the importance of 
this practice, as giving life and spirit to reading of all 
kinds ; but it is particularly requisite with poetry, 
because of the natural tendency of metre to monotony. 

In unlearning your probable bad habits in the reading ' 
of poetry, as in learning how to read it rightly, you 
should adopt a scheme of lessons, so as to accustom your- 
self to the change by steps. Begin with poetry which 
has no rhyme, and in which the metre is not very 
decidedly marked. " Paradise Lost" will be an excellent 
lesson to start with. I do not mean that you should read 
the whole, but select portions of it. On careful reading 
you will observe that the pauses are not measured ; they 
do not fall at the end of the lines, but are scattered all 
over them ; and if you strictly keep to these, you must 
avoid both sing-song and chant. For instance, take the 
" Invocation to Light," noted as before described : — 



Hovj to Read Poetry. 145 

f * Hail, — holy Light ! — offspring cf heav'n first born — 

Or of th' Eternal, co-eternal beam - 

May I express thee unblam'd since GOB is light — 

And never but in unapproached light 

Dwelt from eternity dwelt then in thee 

Bright effluence of bright essence inereate ! 



Or hear'st thou rather pure — ethereal stream 

Whose fountain who shall tell Before the sun — 

Before the heavens thou wert and at the voice 

Of GOD as with a mantle didst invest 

The rising world of waters — ■ dark and deep — 

Won from the void and formless infinite 

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing 

Escaped the Stygian pool — though long detained 

In that obscure sojourn while in my flight 

Through utter and through middle darkness borne — 
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre 

I sung of Chaps and eternal night 

Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 

The dark descent and up to rcascend 

Though hard and rare Thee I revisit safe 

And feel thy sovereign — vital — lamp but thou 

Revisit'st. not these eyes that roll in vain 

To find thy piercing ray and find no dawn 

So thick a drop serene hath quexch'd their orbs 

Or dim suffusion veiled Yet not the more 

Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 

Clear spring or shady grove or sunny hill >• 

Smit with the love of sacred song but chief 

Thee Si ox and the flowing brooks beneath 

That wash thy hallowed feet and warbling flow 

Nightly I visit nor sometimes forget 

Those other two equall'd with me in fate 

So were / equall'd with them in renown 

Blind Thamyris and blind Mseonides 

And Tiresias and Phineas prophets old ■ 

Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move 

Harmonious numbers as the wakeful bird 

Sings darkling and in shadiest covert ?iid 
Tunes her nocturnal throat^ 

10 



146 How to Read Poetry. 

Here, you will observe, the pauses fall at every part 
of the verse. This practice will make the first breach in 
your bad habit of measuring every line. Then betake 
yourself to some poetry having rhymes, but irregular 
verse ; then to poems whose metres are still more 
unusual, until, at length, you may venture upon the 
metres that most tempt to sing-song, such as that of 
" The Exile of Erin." And I would especially commend 
to you, as one of the best exercises for the purpose of 
unlearning this fault, the frequent rendering of "Julia's 
Letter" in Byron's " Don Juan." When you feel your- 
self relapsing into the old habit, read this passage half a 
dozen times, with careful observance of the singularly 
.varied pauses. It will be a renewed lesson in the art of 
reading. 

I append it. Observe, that it is made up of a series 
of short sentences, and must be read with very delicate 
management of the voice, that you may touch with the 
rhyme the finest chord in the listener's ear ; but you must 
be careful, in attempting this, not to destroy the exquisite 
structure of the several sentences — which may be 
described as sobs of ivords, and should be almost uttered 
as such : — 

" They tell ine 'tis decided you depart 



; Tis wise 'tis well but not the less a pain ■ 

I have no further claim on your young heart 

Mine is the victim and would be again 

To love too much has been the only art 

I used 1 write in haste and if a stain 

Be on this sheet 'tis not what it appears 

My eyeballs burn and throb but have no tears 

" I loved 1 lo VE you for this love have lost 

State station HEAVEN — — mankind's MY OWN es-teem - 



How to Read Poetry. 147 

And yet cannot regret what it hath cost 

Sq dear is still the memory of that dream 

Yet if I name my guilt 'tis not to boast 

None can deem harsher of me than / deem ■ 



I trace this scrawl because 1 cannot rest — — — 

I've nothing to reproach or to request 

" Man's love is of man's life a thing apart — 

'Tis woman's whole existence Man may range 

The court camp church the vessel and the mart 

Sword gown gain glory offer in exchange 

Pride fame ambition to fill up his heart 

And few there are whom these cannot estrange 

Men have all these resources we but one 

To love again and be again undone 

H You will proceed in pleasure and in pride 

Beloved and loving many all is o'er 

For me — on earth ~-i — ; — except some years to hide 

My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core 

These I could bear but cannot cast aside 

The passion which still rages as before 

And so farewell forgive me — love me — no — — — 

That word is idle now but let it go. 

" My breast has been all weakness is so — yet — 

But still — I think I can collect my mind 

My blood still rushes where my spirit's set — 
As roll the waves before the settled wind 

My heart is feminine nor can forget 

To all — except one image — madly blind 

So shakes the needle and so stands the pole — 

As vibrates my fond heart to my fixed soul. 

" I have no more to say but linger still — — 

And dare not set my seal upon this sheet 

And yet — I may as well the task fulfil ■ 



My misery can scarce be more complete - 



I had not lived till now — could sorrow kill 

Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet - 

And I must e'en survive this last adieu 

And bear with life to love and pray for you." 



148 Reading of Narrative , 



SLetter XXffl. 

BEADING OF NABBATIVE, ABGUMENT, AND SENTI- 
MENT. 

Few special instructions are needed for the reading of 
narrative. Your chiefest care will be to avoid monotony. 
For the most part, there is an even flow of ideas, and a 
smooth stream of words, tending unconsciously to pro- 
duce in you an uniformity of expression and tone that 
is apt to lull the listener to sleep. A continual effort will 
consequently be required on your part to counteract that 
tendency, by throwing into your reading as much liveli- 
ness of manner and variety of expression as the matter 
will permit ; and it is better to hazard the charge of over- 
acting, than to find your hearers nodding, starting, and 
staring, with that extravagant endeavor not to look 
sleepy, by which drowsiness always betrays itself. 

Think what a narrative is. You are telling a story 
from a book instead of from memory, — that is all. But 
when you tell a stoiy, you do not drawl it, nor gabble it, 
nor sing it, nor run right through it without a pause, nor 
in the same tone, nor without a change of expression. 
On the contrary, you vary your voice with every varia- 
tion in the theme ; sometimes you speak quickly, some- 
times slowly ; your voice is now loud, now soft ; you 
express cheerfulness at- some parts and seriousness or 
sadness at others ; sometimes your voice swells with the 
rising inflection, sometimes it sinks with the falling one ; 
and thus, prompted by nature alone, without teaching and 
instinctively, your mind not only rightly embodies the 



Argument) and Sentiment. 149 

ideas, but you give to them the right expression, so stim- 
ulating the minds of your audience to attention, and 
writing upon them that which it was } T our desire to 
convey. 

But when you take a book and read the same narrative, 
you will probably assume an artificial voice, tone, and 
manner, — tedious, monotonous, and sleep-provoking, — 
and fail to keep attention awake for ten minutes. 

How may you avoid this ? By going back to nature. 
Think how you would tell that tale out of book, and try 
so to read it from the book. When reading narrative, let 
it be ever present to your thoughts that you are but telling 
a story in choicer language, and utter it accordingly. I 
do not mean by this, that all narratives should be read in 
the same manner, for each must be expressed according 
to its special character ; a tone of gayety should be 
infused into a light and lively story ; a tone of gravity or 
of sadness into a grave or pathetic tale. But this applies 
only to the general characteristics of your manner of 
reading. If any grave passages occur in the lively narra- 
tive, or any lively passages in the grave narrative, they 
must be rendered according to their own characteristics, 
without reference to the general strain of the composition, 
which they are designed to relieve by variety. So, when 
dialogue is introduced, do not fail to seize the opportunity 
for entire change and relief by giving to it that full 
dramatic expression which will be described in a subse- 
quent letter. Another means for breaking the monotony 
of narrative is to raise your voice slightly at the end of 
each sentence, instead of dropping it, as is the too fre- 
quent habit of English speakers and readers. 

You will find great differences in the facility for read- 



150 Reading of Narrative, 

ing offered by different prose narratives. The composi 
tion of some authors is so musical, — ■ their language has 
so much rhythm in it, — that it is extremely difficult to 
avoid a lapse into monotony. These smooth sentences 
are very pleasant to the tongue of the reader, and, at 
first, very agreeable to the audience ; but they soon 
weary those who have nothing to do but to open their 
ears. It is necessary that you should conquer this diffi- 
culty in the reading of such authors, and therefore you 
must practise yourself with them assiduously. But not 
at the beginning of your studies. Commence with the most 
abrupt and rugged of prose writers, whose aim is power 
rather than sweetness, and who will not permit you to be 
monotonous. Advance from them to the writers whose 
periods are rounded and whose words are musically 
arranged. Portions of " Tristram Shandy " and " Car- 
lyle's History of the French Revolution" afford good 
practice for a beginning, if you carefully observe all the 
eccentricities of the composition. Macaulay's short sen- 
tences will assist your next step ; De Foe, and Dryden, 
and Swift will serve for further progress ; while the 
rounded periods, alliterations, and artfully balanced 
words of such writers as Gibbon and Johnson should be 
reserved for your latest efforts, when j^ou have altogether, 
or almost, subdued your impulses to metre and monotony. 
But if the reading of narrative is difficult, that of 
didactic writing is still more difficult. The liveliest read- 
ing of this class of composition is laborious for the listener 
to follow, for an argument is not so rapidly received b} 7, 
the mind as a picture. Mark the difference. When you 
narrate a story, by your words you simply suggest a 
picture to the minds of your audience. This does not 



Argument, and Sentiment. 151 

require the exercise of thought on their parts. They have 
but to give attention to your words, and instantly, by 
association, without an effort on their parts, there is called 
up in their minds the images of the things which those 
words signify. So it is with sentimental writing. The 
minds of the audience are moved by sympathy, without 
any exertion of thought. The suggestive words fall on 
the ear, and the emotion follows. But otherwise it is with 
whatever is in the nature of argument. The mind of the 
listener is not now a mere recipient; it must not only 
perceive the ideas conveyed, but exercise itself in com- 
paring them, in discovering their differences and resem- 
blances ; indeed, it must labor through the whole process 
of reasoning by which the conclusion is attained. It is 
necessary to remember this in the reading of didactic 
writing, so that you may adapt your manner to the mental 
procedure through which your audience must pass. You 
must read very much more slowly than is requisite for 
narrative, because the listener's mind has to go through a 
process of positive exertion before it can fully receive 
what you design to convey, and, if you read rapidly, it 
cannot possibly keep pace with you. Therefore, too, you 
should make long pauses, especially at the close of each 
proposition or step in the argument ; you should empha- 
size the commencement of each proposition, in order to 
direct attention to it, and the conclusion should be read 
with still greater emphasis, and still more slowly, the 
more firmly to impress it upon the listener's mind and 
memory, — that being the end and object of the previous 
argument. If the importance of the proposition be great, 
it is desirable sometimes to repeat it, — a device that 
seldom fails of its effect, and which is not so often prac- 



152 Reading of Narrative, 

tised by readers, preachers, and speakers as it might 
be. 

The foremost difficulty in the reading of all compo- 
sitions of this class is to keep the attention of your 
audience, especially if the subject is more instructive 
than interesting. You must rely much upon yourself for 
this effect. The temptation is sorely upon you to be cold 
and dull. This is the fault against which you will have 
to guard, and every device must be employed to counter- 
act the tendency. Try to be cheerful, even lively. Seize 
every opportunity afforded by the text to vary the strain, 
to change your tone, to alter your expression. The 
argument must be dry indeed, — too dry for any place 
but the study, — that is not varied by illustrations, or 
relieved by narrative, or by sentiment, or by a flash or 
two of wit or humor. Avail yourself of all such helps to 
keep your audience awake ; and, for the purpose of stim- 
ulating attention, you may even venture to make them 
more emphatic than would be altogether permissible else- 
where. Try to render these interludes in the most amus- 
ing manner you can assume ; discard the didactic tone 
altogether while the episode is on your lips, and when, 
in due course, you resume the argument, the effect will 
be the more impressive, — the change will be in itself an 
attraction, and help you through another passage of 
laborious reasoning. Even the argument itself is capable 
of being much enlivened or dulled by your manner of 
rendering it. Avoid alike the dreary and the dogmatic 
tone ; put it in the lightest and liveliest tones you can 
assume, but yet with that earnestness which gives sq 
much weight to conviction. 

Sentimental compositions require the observance of one 



Argument \ and Sentiment. 153 

grand rule : you must feel what you read ; if you do not, 
it will fail of its effect. Sentiment sways by sj^rapathy, 
and tones are even more sympathetic than words. A 
sentence that conveys the idea of grief will not touch the 
heart so speedily or so surely as a sorrowful sound of the 
voice. Therefore, in reading sentiment ^ give to it the 
right expression, and vary that expression with every 
change in the sentiment, and your tone with every degree 
of emotion. This may be acted, if you are a consum- 
mate actor, and the voice may assume the fit expression 
for the words, without even the shadow of an emotion 
passing over your own mind ; but such art is so rare that 
you are not likely to have learned it. Short of the high- 
est skill, it will certainly betray itself; the listener will 
discover the absence of the true ring ; the sound will have 
a hollowness in it sensible to the practised ear, and 
which the unpractised will find in its failing to move 
them. But feel what you read, and your hearers also will 
•feel ; their feeling will react on you, excite you yet more 
profoundly, and make your reading still more effective. 

But emotion will not bear too long a strain, and } r ou 
should seize every opportunity for its relaxation. The 
effect is vastly enchanced by variety, and, if the composi- 
tion is by a skilful writer, that necessary variety will 
have been introduced. Make the best of it ; mark the 
variety by your manner. Pass rapidly and easily from 
grave to gay, from the joyous to the sad, giving the full 
effect to each in its turn, that the effect of the other may 
be heightened by the contrast. 

Sentiment is more frequently found mingled with narra- 
tive than occupying an entire composition. In such case 
it is the more easy, for the story has already prepared 



154 Reading of Narrative \ etc. 

the way for a ready rise of the emotion in your own 
mind, and a more perfect sympathy with it in the minds 
of your audience. But be more than ever careful in such 
case to mark, by your manner, the boundary between the 
narrative and the sentiment. Read each, according to 
its own requirement, in the fashion that has been sug- 
gested. 

Declamation is properly a part of oratory, and will 
come to be fully treated of in the remarks on the art of 
speaking ; but, as it is sometimes found in books, and 
often in newspapers, I could not complete a commentary 
on the art of reading without some notice of it. I use it 
here as a general term, to include all the class of compo- 
sitions that are of the nature of oratory, whether deliv- 
ered in the senate, at the bar, from the pulpit, or on the 
platform. I cannot give you many definite rules for the 
reading of speeches, and it is extremely difficult to de- 
scribe by words how they should be read. A judicious 
teacher would impart it to you in a few minutes, and I 
can assist you only by negatives. You must not read a 
speech as it was, or ought to have been, spoken, for that 
would not be reading, but spouting. Neither, on the 
other hand, must you read it as you would read a narra- 
tive. You must assume something of the oratorical 
manner and tone, and use a great deal of the expression 
which a good speaker would give to the discourse ; the 
same pauses should be observed, and almost the same 
emphasis ; the " points," as they are called, of the 
speech should be well brought out. A little excess of 
this is preferable to too much tameness, and the lesser 
error here is overacting. 

The reading aloud of this class of compositions will be 



Special Readings — The Bible. 155 

found of great utility in educating yourself in the art of 
speaking, and therefore you should lose no oppoitunity 
for practising it. 



better XSItf* 

SPECIAL BEADINGS— THE BIBLE. 

In or out of the pulpit good reading of the Bible is 
very rarely heard. Even persons who read well any 
other book often read this greatest of all books most 
vilely. Not one clergyman in a hundred can read a 
chapter correctly, — meaning by that term the right ex- 
pression of the sense, as distinguished from the graces of 
expression. Not one in a thousand can read a chapter 
effectively as well as correctly. It is worse with the 
laity. So with the prayer-book. How seldom are the 
services delivered as they should be ! How few can give 
to family prayer its proper reading ! There must be 
some cause, widely and powerfully operating, to produce 
so universal an effect ; and that cause must be under- 
stood before a cure can be recommended. Let us seek 
for it. 

It is the business of the clergy to read ; and they have 
not learned their business if they have not studied the art 
of reading. It might be presumed that most of them do 
this more or less ; yet such is the difficulty, either of 
conquering bad habits already acquired, or avoiding a 
lapse into mannerism where the same thing is often 



156 Special Readings — The Bible. 

repeated, that we find clergymen remaining or becoming 
bad readers, in spite of study of the art of reading. 
Even if they learn to read other things well, they fail for 
the most part to read rightly that which it is their daily 
duty to read. Why is this ? 

I believe the foundation of the fault to be a very 
prevalent, but a very mistaken, notion that the Bible 
requires to be read in a different manner from other 
books, and this independently of and in addition to the 
expression proper to the subject treated of. A tone is 
assumed that was originally designed to be reverential, 
as if the reader supposed that there was something holy 
in the words themselves, apart from the ideas they ex- 
press. This tone, consciously employed at first, and then 
kept somewhat under control, soon comes to be used un- 
consciously and habitually, and rapidly usurps the place 
of expression, showing itself in many varieties of sound, 
from drawl and sing-song to the nasal twang that for- 
merly distinguished the conventicle. Few readers escape 
the infection, or shake off the habit when once it is 
acquired, because it ceases to be audible to themselves. 
The voice will swell and fall at regular intervals, the 
reader all the while supposing that he is speaking quite 
naturally, while he is really on the verge of a chant ; yet 
if, immediately afterwards, he were asked to read a 
narrative in a newspaper, he would do so in his own 
proper voice and every-day manner. 

This evil habit, so powerful, because so imperceptible 
to the victim of it, is the mischief mainly to be grappled 
with, for it is the foundation of that bad reading of the 
Bible which prevails as much in the pulpit as out of it. 
The first step to conquest is to know the fault and its 



Special Readings — The Bible. 157 

origin. The supposed religious tone must be banished , 
so far as it is applied to the book itself, or to the words 
printed in it ; but there is a reverential tone, properly 
applicable to the meaning conveyed b}^ the words, which 
shculd be cultivated. A mere narrative in the Bible 
demands no utterance differing from a narrative in a 
newspaper, unless the subject of it be solemn ; but pious 
exhortations and religious sentiments have a manner of 
expression properly belonging to them, but very different 
indeed from the nasal twang and the intoned groans 
that are so much in vogue. Cast off every relic of these, 
and then, having first patiently learned how not to read 
the Bible and prayer-book, study zealously how to read 
them. 

The drawl, the drone, the whine, the chant, the groan, 
— these are the besetting sins to be sedulously shunned. 
Frequent repetition of the self-same passages is apt to 
generate some of them. The services, recited so often, 
come so readily to the lips of the clergyman who reads 
them three or four times a week, that there is a natural 
tendency to utterance of them mechanically, without their 
having first passed through the mind, and hence the 
mannerisms of which he is unconscious. As once read, 
so are they always ; and if the habit be not early wrestled 
with, it becomes incurable. The only remedy is the 
presence of an inexorable critic, who will stop you when 
you are faulty, and make you repeat the sentence until 
you read it rightly ; or a professional teacher, who will 
not merely detect your errors, but show you how you 
ought to read, and thus substitute his style for yours. 

A special difficulty in the reading of the Bible arises 
from its division into verses, and its very incorrect and 



158 Special Readings — The Bible. 

imperfect punctuation. Indeed, you will find it neces- 1 
sary to overlook the printed signs, and introduce your 
own pauses according to the requirements of the com- 
position. Bat they do very much trouble the eye, how- 
ever resolved you may be not to heed them ; and they 
certainly offer a serious impediment to good Bible read- 
ing. 

A still more difficult task is to pay no heed to the 
verses. You should so read that the listener may be 
unable to discover from your voice where a verse begins 
or ends. Often it is the correct measure of a sentence, 
or a paragraph, and then the voice and the verse will 
run together, only marked as if it were a sentence 
occurring in an undivided page, and with no indication 
of any artificial arrangement. The sense does not re- 
quire this breaking up into verses ; it is purely arbitrary. 
It does not exist in the original ; it was adopted in the 
translation for the convenience of reference, and for 
chanting ; and there is no more call for heed to be given 
to it in reading than if it were the History of England. 
Try to forget it ; you will find the task extremely diffi- 
cult, but, until you have learned to do so, you cannot 
read well. 

Then apply to it all the rules that have been suggested 
in these letters for reading other compositions. The 
Bible embodies all of them, — narrative, dialogue, poetry, 
declamation, argument. It is a magnificent study for 
the reader, and an admirable exercise, if only he can first 
banish the bad habits he is almost certain to have ac- 
quired from early training and evil example everywhere. 
At the beginning, rather incline to the opposite fault, and 
even gabble it, as the best means of throwing off the 



Special Readings — The Bible. 159 

groan or the chant. Read a chapter, as glibly, lightly, 
and rapidly, as if it were a novel. Read it again more 
slowly ; then again more seriously ; then with its proper 
tone and emphasis, only taking care, if you find any of 
the faults reviving, to banish them by again returning to « 
the opposite manner. 

Select for your exercises chapters or passages that 
contain examples of the several kinds of composition, 
and confine your attention to each one singly until you 
have mastered it. Suppose you begin with a narrative, 
read it as a narrative, with the same ease, and fluency, 
and variety- of expression, as are recommended in the 
previous instructions for reading compositions of that 
<slass. So with dialogue, or declamation, or argument. 
Do not assume a different manner or tone from that 
which }T>u would adopt if you were reading the self-same 
sentences in some other book. Give to them precisely 
the tone, and style, and expression, that you would give 
to the same ideas conveyed by the same words whenso- 
ever or wheresoever you were required to utter them. 
And give the full expression, and nothing but the expres- 
sion, that belongs to them. Persons accustomed to the 
drone, which they imagine to be reverential, will at first 
complain that you read the Bible like another book ; but 
they will soon get over this, when the}' find how much 
more effectively it is heard and remembered. Another 
set of hearers, who eschew the beautiful and the pleasing 
until they banish with them the good and the true, will 
raise a louder outcry against the right reading of the 
narrative and the dialogue, — that it is theatrical; a vague 
term of reproach, formerly more formidable than it now 
is, and which you must learn to despise, if you aspire to 



160 Special Readings — The Bible. 

be a good reader ; because, a good actor being a good 
reader, and something more, you cannot read well until 
you read as correctly as the good actor reads. You 
cannot hope to conciliate this class of critics, for they 
will be satisfied with nothing but a monotonous drawl, 
and will giye the sneering epithet to anything that 
escapes from their bathos ; so you may as well set them 
at defiance from the beginning, and follow the dictates 
of your own good taste to its utmost limits, regardless of 
the protests of the tasteless. If you would satisfy 
yourself of the effect of a full and proper reading of the 
Bible, as compared with the commonplace reading of it, 
read, first, in the ordinary way, and afterwards artisti- 
cally, the Raising of Lazarus, the Parable of Nathan, the 
Agony in the Garden, the Crucifixion, and the exquisite 
chapter on Charit} 7 , and your audience, equally with 
yourself, will acknowledge that they had never before 
rightly comprehended the simple grandeur of those 
passages. 

And so with the reading of prayers. Mannerism is 
more frequent in this than even in the reading of the 
Bible. The groaning style is the favorite one. Why 
should it be deemed necessary to address the Divinity as 
if you had a stomach-ache ? Yet thus do ninety-nine 
out of every hundred in the pulpit or in family prayer. 
There is a tone of profound reverence most proper to be 
assumed in prayer, and which, indeed, if the prayer be 
felt at the moment of utterance, it is almost impossible 
not to assume ; but that is very different indeed from the 
sepulchral and stomachic sounds usually emitted. It 
will be observed, too, that readers commonly employ the 
dowmvard inflection of the voice, — that is to say, the 



Dramatic Reading. 161 

voice descends at the close of the sentence, — whereas, 
in prayer, the opposite or upward inflection should be 
employed. The voice should always rise at the end 
of a sentence, that being the natural expression of the 
language of a petition or request. Take the familiar 
instance of the Lord's Prayer. How many times have 
you heard it read correctly anywhere or by anybody ? I 
will give it you, as it should be read artistically, 
according to the rules already suggested. Compare 
it with your own habitual reading. I mark it as 
before. 

"Our FATHER which art in heaven JiaUow'd 

be Thy name Thy kingdom come Thy will 

be done on earth as it is in heaven Give us day by 

day — our daily bread and forgive us our tres- 
passes — as ice forgive them that trespass against us 

And lead us not into temptation — but deliver us 

from evil Amen," 



letter IIF. 

DB ASIATIC BEADING. 

I have reserved this for the last, because it includes 
all the rest. By the term i; Dramatic Reading" I do not 
intend merely the reading of drama, but reading dramati- 
cally whatever is dramatic, whether it be or be not a 
drama in name or form. There is scarcely any kind of 
11 



1 62 Dramatic Reading. 

composition that does not contain something dramatic ; 
for there are few writings so dull as to be unenlivened by 
an anecdote, an episode or apologue, a simile or an illus- 
tration, and these are for the most part more or less 
dramatic. Wherever there is a dialogue there is drama. 
No matter what the subject of the discourse, — whether it 
be grave or gay, or its object be to teach, or only to 
amuse, — if it assume to speak through any agency, 
other than the writer in his own proper person, there is 
drama. As, in music, we have heard Mendelssohn's ex- 
quisite Songs without Words, wherein the airs, by their 
expressiveness suggest the thoughts and feelings the poet 
would have embodied in choicest language, and desired 
to marry to such music, so, in literature, there is to be 
found drama without the ostensible shape of drama ; as 
in a narrative whose incidents are so graphically 
described that we see in the mind's eye the actions 
of all the characters, and from those actions learn 
the ivords they must have spoken when so acting and 
feeling. 

Moreover, drama belongs exclusively to humanity. It 
attaches to the " quicquid agunt homines" It is difficult 
to conceive, and almost impossible to describe, any 
doings of men that are not dramatic. All the external 
world might be accurately painted in words, without a 
particle of drama, though with plenty of poetry ; but, 
certainly, two human beings cannot be brought into 
communication without a drama being enacted. Theii 
intercourse could only be described dramatically, and 
that which is so described requires to be read dra- 
matically. Of this art, the foundation is an accurate 
conception of the various characters, and the perfection 



Dramatic Reading. 163 

of the art is to express their characteristics truly, each 
one as such a person would have spoken, had he realty 
existed at such a time and in such circumstances. The 
dramatist and the novelist conceive certain ideal person- 
ages ; they place them in certain imaginary conditions ; 
then they are enabled, by a mental process which is not 
an act of reasoning, but a special faculty, to throw their 
own minds into the state that would be the condition of 
such persons so situated, and forthwith there arises 
within them the train of feelings and thoughts natural to 
that situation. It is difficult to describe this mental pro- 
cess clearly in unscientific language ; but it will at once 
be admitted that something very like it must take place 
before genius, sitting in a lonely room, could give prob- 
able speech and emotion to creatures of the imagination. 
That is the dramatic art of the author, and, because it is 
so difficult and rare, it is the most highly esteemed of all 
the accomplishments of authorship. 

For the right reading of dialogue very nearly the same 
process is required. You must, in the first place, com- 
prehend distinctly the characters supposed to be speak- 
ing in the drama. You must have in your mind's e} 7 e a 
vivid picture of them, as suggested by the author's sketch 
in outline. Next, you must thoroughly understand the 
meaning of the words the author has put into their 
mouths, — that is to say, what thoughts those words were 
designed to express. This fancy portrait will suggest 
the manner of speaking ; and then, clearly comprehending 
the meaning of the words, you will naturally utter them 
with the right tones and emphasis. 

As the great author having conceived a character and 
invented situations for it, by force of his genius, and 



164 Dramatic Reading. 

without an effort of reason, makes him act and talk 
precisely as such a person would have acted and talked in 
real life ; so the great actor, mastering the author's 
design, rightly and clearly comprehending the character 
he assumes, and learning the words that character is 
supposed to speak, is enabled to give to those words the 
correct expression, not as the result of a process of 
reasoning, but instinctively, by throwing his mind into 
the position of the character he is personating. So does 
the good reader become for the time the personages of 
whom he is reading and utters their thoughts as them- 
selves would have uttered them. A reader must be an 
actor without the action. 

Until you have attained to the ready use of this faculty 
of personation, you cannot be a good reader of dialogue ; 
but it is a faculty capable of cultivation, and certain to 
improve by practice. Bashfulness is a very frequent 
cause of failures that are supposed to result from apparent 
lack of the faculty itself. Almost every reader shrinks 
at first from reading in character. He fears failure ; he 
wants the courage to break down and try again ; he is 
scared by his own voice, and has no confidence in his own 
capacities. 

But I desire to impress upon you that dialogue must 
be read dramatically, or it had better not be read at all ; 
and, that there may be no tendency to read it otherwise, 
make it a rule from the beginning of your practice of the 
art to read dramatically, whatever the book in your hand, 
and however unsatisfactory the manner in which you may 
do so at first. Persevere, and you will be able to meas- 
ure your improvement almost from day to day, — certainly 
from week to week ; as you advance, your courage will 



Dramatic Reading. 165 

grow too, find you will not only speedily learn how 
dialogue ought to be read, but you will acquire the confi- 
dence necessary to read it rightly. 

Dialogue is the very best practice for students of the 
art of reading. Nothing so rapidly and effectually 
destroys personal mannerisms. In other readings, it is 
yourself that speaks, and you speak according to your 
habits, which are more likely to be bad than good. But 
in dialogue you speak, not as yourself, but as some other 
person, and often as half a dozen different persons, so 
that you are unconsciously stripped of your own manner- 
isms. You must infuse into your style so much life and 
spirit, you must pass so rapidly from one mode of utter- 
ance to another, that the most inveterate habits are 
rudely shaken* Dialogue is not only excellent practice 
for yourself, but, well read, it is the most pleasant of all 
forms of composition to listen to. It never wearies the 
ear by monotony, for the tones of the voice change with 
every sentence ; nor the mind by overtaxing thought, for 
each speaker suggests a new train of ideas. 

Being such, how should dialogue be read, and how 
may you best learn to read it ? 

Dialogue must everywhere and at all times be read in 
character. Whensoever what you read assumes the form 
of a conversation between two or more persons, all that 
is represented as spoken should be read precisely as such 
descriptions, sentiments, or arguments would have been 
uttered by such persons as the supposed speakers. I 
repeat, that you must read these in character, changing 
the character with each part in the dialogue and preserv- 
ing throughout the same manner of reading each of the 
parts, so that it shall not be necessary for you to name 



1 66 Dramatic Reading. 

the speaker, but the audience shall know, from yout 
utterance of the first half-dozen words, which of the 
characters is supposed to be speaking. And the change 
must be instantaneous. There must be no pause to think 
who the next speaker is, and what he is, and how you 
should represent him, or how you have already repre- 
sented him, but you must pass from one to the other 
without hesitation and apparently without an effort. 
There is no emotion of the mind which you may not thus 
be required to express without any preparation, and the 
changes to opposite emotions are often most abrupt. In 
short, as I have before observed, a good reader will read 
' as a good actor speaks, only in more subdued fashion, as 
speech is naturally, when not accompanied by action. 

This is what you should do ; but how may you acquire 
the art of doing it ? 

Its difficult}?- cannot be denied. It demands some 
physical qualifications, wanting which, success is impos- 
sible. You must possess a certain degree of flexibility 
of voice, or you will be unable to modify it for the differ- 
ent personages in the dialogue. All who have emotions 
can express them, but something more than that is neces- 
sary for the reading of dialogue. It would not do to 
express the emotions of a clown in the tones of a gentle- 
man, and vice versa. But apart from the true expression 
of the emotion, there is a manner of expression that is 
quite as requisite to be observed. If, for instance, j^ou 
read the Trial Scene in " Pickwick," the speech of Ser- 
geant Buzfuz should not only rightly express the ideas 
put into an advocate's mouth, but also the- characteristic 
manner of his utterance of them. So with the examina- 
tion of Sam Weller and the other witnesses. Some per- 



Dramatic Reading. 167 

sous are physically incompetent to this ; they cannot 
mould their voices, nor put off their own characters, nor 
assume other characters than their own. 

But although there is no hope where the faculty is 
wholly wanting, if it exists, however feebly, it is 
capable of great improvement ; not without limit, indeed, 
but the terminus cannot be assigned. So, unless you are 
conscious of entire incapacity, address yourself to the 
task hopefully and resolutely, undeterred by failure, 
because through failure you will best learn how to 
succeed. And the first qualification is courage. Be not 
alarmed at the sound of your own voice, nor shrink from 
giving full expression to your conceptions. Resolved to 
express whatever you may feel, you will begin by reading 
to yourself the dialogue }^ou have selected for your lesson. 
Let it be, for instance, the glorious scene in " Ivanhoe " 
between Richard and the Clerk of Copmanhurst. Having 
thus learned the characters of the two personages, as 
designed by the novelist, think how such characters would 
speak, — by which I mean the manner of their speaking, 
the tones of their voices, the peculiarities of their utter- 
ances, considered apart from the meaning of their words. 
Read one of the sentences in the dialogue in the manner 
you have thus conceived of the speaker ; repeat the sen- 
tence until you are satisfied with your performance of it. 
Then do the like with the other characters, until you have 
mastered them also. In this exercise be careful to study 
the reading of each character separately, and do not 
attempt a second, until you have so perfectly learned the 
first that you can read any sentence set down to him in 
the dialogue in the characteristic manner belonging to 
him. Do not attempt to read the whole as dialogue until 



1 68 Dramatic Reading. 

you have thus mastered all the parts in it, and you will 
find the labor well bestowed, for, this task accomplished, 
the rest is comparatively easy. The next process is to 
read the dialogue silently, slowly, and thoughtfully, for 
the purpose of clearly comprehending what it is that the * 
author designed the characters to say, — that is, the mean- 
ing of the speakers, as distinguished from their manner 
of speaking ; for, unless you rightly understand this, it is 
impossible for you to give correct expression to the 
words. Moreover, this is a fine exercise of the intellect, 
and it is not the least of the many uses of the art of 
reading, that it compels you to cultivate the full under- 
standing of what you read. Where you have doubts as 
to the meaning, you will often find them solved by read- 
ing the doubtful passage aloud, and, your ear catching 
the words of the author as they presented themselves to 
him, you will be conducted to the conception of his ideas. 

You will now be prepared to begin the reading of the 
whole dialogue with some success- You have acquired 
the mannerisms of the various speakers ; you have mas- 
tered the meaning of the words put into their mouths ; 
nothing now remains but the art of instantaneously 
changing your manner and voice, as j^ou pass from 
speaker to speaker, according to the exigencies of the 
dialogue. This is an accomplishment of undoubted 
difficult}^ but it is essential to good reading ; it can be 
acquired by practice alone, and, fortunately, perseverance 
will command success, however impracticable it may seem 
to you at the beginning. 

Thus the art of dramatic reading is comprised in three 
distinct requirements : first, representation of the manner 
of the speakers ; secondly, the right expression of the 



Dramatic Reading. 169 

thoughts to which they give utterance ; and, thirdly, an 
instant change from one character to another, without 
hesitation or halt for reflection, always so painful to 
listeners. 

And the test of your success in this will be, whether, 
without its being named by you on the change of speak- 
ers, or indicated otherwise than by the change in your 
manner, your audience know to whose part in the dialogue 
the sentence you are then reading belongs. In printed 
plays, the name of the character is set at the commence- 
ment of each part of the dialogue spoken hy him. On 
the stage, the eyes inform the audience who he is who 
speaks, however badly he may pla} r the part. In listen- 
ing to reading, no such help comes to the eye as from the 
page or from the stage ; and if the reader were to intro- 
duce every sentence with the speaker's name, it would be 
most unpleasing. If you read the dialogue rightly, the 
audience will know from your manner of reading who is 
speaking, as certainly as if you had prefaced the speech 
with the speaker's name. 

Until you can do this, you will not have learned the 
art of reading dialogue ; in which, as I asserted at the 
beginning of this letter, is comprised the whole art of 
reading. 



1 70 The Reading of Wit and Humor. 
3Letter SlUff* 

THE BEADING OF WIT AND HUMOB. 

The reading of humorous and witty compositions is so 
pleasing and popular when well performed that it de- 
serves special attention. Alike in your family circle, 
or at public readings, you will find a delighted audience 
when }'ou introduce any of the witty or humorous writ- 
ings in which English literature is so fertile ; and they 
have this recommendation, that they please equally all 
classes, and all conditions of mind. They are relished 
by the most highly educated and the most uninstructed 
with equal zest ; the same peal of wholesome laughter 
from the lips of high and low attests the touching of a 
common chord within. 

So much of the flavor of wit and humor, or, rather, 
the catching of it by an audience, depends upon the 
manner in which it is conveyed to them, that the cultiva- 
tion of the art of pleasantly expressing it is well worth 
your care. The first great rule is to give full play to the 
fun. But as wit and humor require to be read in very 
different fashions, it will be necessary that I should 
briefly remind you of the distinction between them ; for 
they are so often used as almost synoirymous terms, and, 
indeed, are so generally taken by the unthinking to be 
almost identical in fact, that, unless you clearly compre- 
hend the difference, and discover at a glance whether a 
composition is witty or humorous, you will be subject to 
errors that will wholly mar the effect of your reading. 



The Reading of Wit and Humor. 171 

I repeat that wit and humor are not identical. A man 
may be very witty without a spice of humor, and humor- 
ous without a grain of wit. It may be questioned if ever 
they are combined in any large degree. A remarkable 
instance of the difference between them is found in our- 
selves and our French neighbors. We are rich in humor, 
but poor in wit ; the French excel in wit, but scarcely 
know what humor is. They can neither produce it them- 
selves nor understand it in others. Compare their 
Charivari with our Punch, and the distinction will be 
instantly apparent. The foundation of the feeling of 
humor is the sense of incongruity. We have a natural 
love of symmetry, and any disturbance of it gives to 
most minds more or less of pain, as where a picture is 
hung awry, a curve is not perfect, or windows do not 
match. True, these incongruities do not make us laugh. 
The probable purpose of Providence in giving us this 
sense was to conduce to the preservation of order and 
proportion, that we might not be out of harmony with 
the world about us, which is all constructed on definite 
proportions and with designed symmetry. 

The end accomplished in the physical world by this 
sense of symmetry is effected in the mental and moral 
world by the sense of " the ludicrous ; " which is a sort 
of moral police for the detection of mental incongruit3 r . 
Its expression is laughter, and ridicule is the weapon by 
which mental and moral incongruity is repressed ; and 
what is more powerful for this purpose than ridicule ? 

To put it in a short proposition that may be committed 
to memory : — 

Humor is a clear sense of the ridiculous ; and the 
ridiculous is incongruity discovered in things that apper- 



172 The Reading of Wit and Humor. 

tain to humanity, or in things which, by association of 
ideas, we connect with huinanit}^ Humor differs from 
wit in this : that the sense of humor is provoked by 
unexpected incongruity suddenly discovered in things 
apparently like ; wit is the sudden discovery of unex- 
pected resemblances in things apparently unlike ; biit 
both requiring, for their proper development, to be ex- 
pressed in appropriate language. 

Wit does not provoke laughter; a smile is the only 
outward expression of the pleasure which the mind feels 
in its contemplation. To appreciate wit, a certain amount 
of mental cultivation and refinement is required. Some 
minds are incapable of even catching the point of a wit- 
ticism ; other minds find no pleasure in it. But humor 
is enjoyed by all persons, though in varying degrees. 
Laughter is its natural expression ; and it is a question 
whether laughter is ever caused by the contemplation of 
anything which has not a touch of the humorous in or 
about it. 

The reading of witty compositions is more difficult 
than the reading of humorous writing, because so much 
of its effect depends upon the reader. A listener would 
rarely catch a flash of the finest wit unless his attention 
be directed to it by the reader. Hence it is necessary, in 
reading wit, not merely to emphasize the witty points, 
but to change the tone and manner as you utter them, 
speaking in a short, sharp, incisive tone, — the voice 
raised slightly above its previous pitch. Imagine your- 
self to be speaking the witticism as the sudden play and 
inspiration of j r our own fancy, and not as something 
taken from a book ; you will then probably give to it the 
natural expression. Your general manner in reading wit 



The Uses of Reading. 173 

should be in accordance with your theme ; lightly, lively, 
trippingly, on the tongue. It is difficult to describe this 
manner of utterance ; but you will, perhaps, better un- 
derstand my nleaning if you recall the brilliant notes 
that were wont to gush from the lips of Grisi, — sparkling 
and flashing like the stars flung from a superb firework. 
After such a fashion should your speech be when you 
desire to read wit effectively. 

But humor must be read after another fashion. You 
should preserve the utmost gravity of countenance ; the 
effect being greatly heightened by the contrast between 
the ludicrous idea and the grave voice that utters it. 
You should not appear conscious of the fun, much less 
share the laughter it provokes. When all around you 
are convulsed with it, let not a muscle of your face be 
moved, save, perhaps, for an expression of wonder. 



better SSFHE* 

THE USES OF BEADING. 

At great cost and with much labor you cultivate the 
art of singing. You employ masters. You practise 
continually. You pride yourself upon the accomplish- 
ment, when it is attained. But, after all, it is merely 
an accomplishment, pleasant to yourself and to others, 
although, if its temptations be weighed against its advan- 
tages, it may be doubtful which would kick the beam, 



174 The Uses of Reading. 

But the art of reading is more useful, is equally pleasant, 
and its advantages have no drawback. All that can be 
advanced in favor of learning to sing can be urged in 
favor of learning to read, with the addition of many- 
reasons for reading not to be found for singing, and the 
absence of objections that certainly prevail against the 
more popular accomplishment. 

The uses of reading are manifold. 

You must well understand what you read before you 
can express it rightly. Not only do you thus learn the 
thoughts as well as the words of an author, but, giving 
utterance to them, you assure yourself that it is not a 
mere speaking by rote ; that the ideas have entered into 
your mind and become a part of its stores. When read- 
ing to yourself you are apt to skim the words, without 
interpreting them clearly to the mind, and to skip pas- 
sages that may be necessary to a right understanding of 
the theme. Often the eye runs over the type while the 
mind is passive. When you read aloud, even if you 
address only the chairs and tables, you cannot thus 
impose upon yourself. The mind must be actively 
engaged in the work ; not only must it apprehend, but 
it must comprehend. Before the words on the printed 
page can come with correct expression from your lips, 
they must be received into your mind ; they must call up 
there the ideas they were designed to convey, or set in 
motion the processes by which the desired conclusion is 
wrought. This compulsion to understand what you read 
is the first and greatest of the uses of the art of reading. 

But it is as pleasant to others as profitable to yourself. 
Reading aloud is not as popular as singing, only because 
the taste for it has not been cultivated, and this lack of 



The Uses of Reading. 175 

cultivation is the result of a lack of good readers, or 
more property, perhaps, of the prevalence of bad reading. 
Seeing that nineteen persons out of twenty read so vilely 
that it is a positive pain to hear them, it is not surprising 
that the suggestion of listening to a reader whose fitness 
is not guaranteed should be received with alarm by those 
who have never heard good reading. Bat, when you 
have overcome this prejudice by proof of the pleasure and 
profit to be derived from a good book well read, you will 
not want a willing audience. In your family circle this 
art will be a perennial source of amusement. A bound- 
less treasury is at your command for the enjoyment of 
your household. Nor is it a selfish, solitary pleasure. 
The same exertion serves for the enjo}mient of as many 
as can hear your voice, and the pleasure is enhanced in 
each when partaken by many. Nor does the practice of 
this art demand cessation from other pursuits. While 
listening to the wisdom, the wit, the poetiy, or the emo- 
tions of the greatest and purest intellects God has 
created, the hands may be busily employed in useful 
work ; indeed, most persons never listen so attentively 
as when their fingers are busy. 

But you must not be disappointed if you fail at first to 
win the ears of an audience, accustomed to read to them- 
selves, but not practised in listening to reading by 
another. The mental processes are different ; they are 
not acquired in a moment ; they need more or less of 
education. If you have read much to yourself, the asso- 
ciation of the printed word with the idea it represents 
is so easy and speedy you are not conscious that it is an 
operation learned slowly and tediously. So it is with 
the listening to reading. The association of the spoken 



176 The Uses of Reading. 

word with the idea it expresses is not so rapid and easy 
as to be unconscious. On the contrary, you are aware of 
a mental effort in the act, and you compare the sensible 
labor of the process of receiving through the ear from the 
lips of a reader with the facility of passage to the mind 
through the eye, and you prefer the latter to the former. 
This, however, is only for a short season. Each time you 
listen to good reading you will do so with more pleasure, 
because you will understand what is read with less labor, 
until you come to receive the ideas thus conveyed to you 
by the lip as readily as when carried through the eye ; 
with the added facility of having the true sense of the 
author presented to you by one who has already learned 
it, without the labor of studying and searching it out for 
yourself. 

As the object of the art of reading is to be understood, 
and as to be understood you must understand, if it had 
no other use, it would be an accomplishment of incalcu- 
lable value. But there are other advantages, personal 
and professional. The practice of reading aloud trains 
you to the habit of hearing your own voice without alarm. 
You cease to start " at the sound yourself had made." 
It gives flexibility to y our voice, tenderness to youi 
tones, expression to your tongue. Your conversation 
will be vastly more agreeable when you talk in a strain 
where the sound echoes the sense, instead of a monoto- 
nous muttering, where half the sense is lost for lack of 
the right expression of it. 

And, if you are willing to take part in the great work 
of education, ycu may render most effective aid by read- 
ing to those who cannot read, or who read so imperfectly 
that reading is a laborious task. Custom has made the 



The Uses of Reading. 177 

process of associating the printed and the spoken word 
so easy to you, that you can scarcely understand how 
difficult it is to those who have had only a little practice. 
For the assistance of these, and for the instruction of 
others who, though they can read readily, prefer the 
exercise of the ear to that of the eye, especially when the 
contents of a book are thus conveyed to them by an 
intelligent reader, a society, formed under the auspices 
of Lord Brougham, undertook the establishment of public 
readings, open at the smallest charge, at which the 
office of reader is gratuitously performed. If such a 
society does not exist in your neighborhood, you can 
easily establish one, — at the same time doing an act of 
kindness to others, and perfecting yourself in the art 
by practising there the precepts you have learned else- 
where. l 

The professional advantages of the art of reading are 
greater even than are the personal benefits. A lawyer is 
usually the spokesman at public meetings, because it is 
his business to talk. Often he is required to read reports 
and other documents. His fame is won or lost by the 
manner of his reading. When undertaking a cause in 
any court, the right or wrong reading of some written 
evidence may affect the verdict. An emphasis on the 
wrong word, or a pause in the wrong place, may change 
the meaning of a whole sentence. Witness the well- 
known passage, "And Balaam said, 'Saddle me — an 
ass : ' and they saddled him" 

1 The Public . Readings Association was originally suggested and after- 
wards established by the author. The Penny Readings now so popular, and 
established throughout the country, were first promoted by the exertions of 
the Association. 

12 



178 Public Readings. 

And, lastly, the art of reading is the foundation of the 
art of speaking. If you would speak well, you should 
first learn to read well. The same play of emotion, the 
same command of voice, the same use of intonation, the 
same manner of expressing thought, that are required 
when you speak your own thoughts in your own lan- 
guage, are needed when you utter the thoughts of another 
in his language. It is for this reason that I have 
prefaced my purposed hints for oratory with some in- 
structions in the arts of writing and reading, because the 
flow of thoughts, the right marshalling of them, and the 
putting of them into the most expressive language, are 
best learned in the art of writing ; how to utter them so 
that they may be most readily understood is best acquired 
by the art of reading ; and these together form the foun- 
dation of the art of speaking. 



gutter sxura- 

PUBLIC HEADINGS. 

Public readings have achieved such universal popular- 
ity, and are so extensively useful, that it is a public duty 
to contribute to the common fund of entertainment, which 
those who have cultivated taste and sufficient leisure are 
thus enabled to provide for their neighbors. 

By taking part in these readings, not only will you do 
good service to others, but you will reap pleasure and 
advantage for yourself. Public reading is the best possi- 



Public Readings. 179 

bit ntroduction to public speaking ; it accustoms you to 
hea your own voice, to face an audience, to speak out, 
to a ticulate, and to use expression. You roust study the 
book to master the author's meaning ; you must practise 
reading to convey that meaning rightly to your audience. 
B3- this self-teaching you learn more of the art of reading 
in one evening than you would acquire by twenty trials 
with none to hear. There is a mental excitement in 
kindling the emotions of an audience which acts and 
reacts by mutual sympathies. You feel the more what 
you read, because others share the same feeling ; because 
you feel more, the more vividly do you express your feel- 
ings, and the more you stir the emotions of the listener. 
As 3'ou will certainly be called upon to play 3-our part in 
the now popular public readings, perhaps some hints, the 
product of experience, will not be unacceptable. 

The first consideration is the choice of subjects for such 
readings. Even a good reader cannot read everything 
equally well. Every reader has his specialty, and }^ou 
will soon discover what is yours. If you doubt, ask your 
friends who may have heard your readings. Your tastes 
are not always a test ; many persons read worst the com- 
positions they like best. Many grave men excel in the 
rendering of wit and humor ; many cheerful men give 
admirable expression to tragedy. Indeed, it may be 
stated as a general rule, that men read best that which is 
most opposite to their own dispositions. 

But, although it is necessary to study your own capaci- 
ties, it is not the less needful to stud}* the tastes of your 
audience. Heavy, dull, and difficult writing cannot be 
made pleasant to them by any graces introduced into the 
reading of it. Public readings are not adapted for argu- 



180 Public Readings. 

mentative discourses, nor for anything that demands 
much reflection. The reason is manifest. Reflection is a 
slow process, and cannot be performed while the ear is 
busy catching the coming sentence. Before the mind can 
pass through the process of reasoning, the reader or 
speaker has advanced to the ne^t passage ; the mind of 
the listener follows and leaves the last sentence half com- 
prehended ; or it hears the coming one imperfectly, and 
then all is confusion. Subjects fitted for public readings 
are such only as appeal to the feelings or to the senti- 
ments ; that suggest a picture, or kindle an emotion. 
Compositions that admit of variations in tone and manner 
are always to be preferred, and, if interspersed with dia- 
logue, so much the more will they secure the attention of 
an audience. Dramatic readings are always attractive ; 
still more so is narrative interspersed with dialogue, such 
as a scene from a novel, judiciously selected as having 
a completeness and unity in itself, telling a story intelli- 
gibly, without reference to the plot from which it is taken. 
It is their fitness in this important particular, no less 
than from the vein of humor and tendency to caricature 
pervading them, that the works of Charles Dickens are so 
pre-eminently adapted for public readings, and invariably 
secure such unbounded popularity. If you read them 
with a tolerable sense of their humor, and even a mod- 
erate capacity to express the varieties of character and 
the changes of the dialogue, you may secure a certain 
degree of success with any audience of any class that 
may be collected anywhere. But to give them, as they 
should be rendered, with the full flavor of the fun, and 
that infectious relish of it which no listener can resist, 
you must read and re-read the passages you propose in 



Public Readings. 181 

your programme, until you thoroughly understand them. 
Indeed, you should prepare for a public reading, of what- 
ever kind, by frequent rehearsals. One of the most 
famous of our public readers makes it an invariable prac- 
tice to rehearse, during the day, his readings for the night, 
— even those most familiar to him, and most often prac- 
tised, — and in this rehearsal he studies how to utter 
every syllable and to express every thought with the 
greatest effect. What he deems it necessary to do for 
the accomplishment of his art, you may be assured you 
ought to do for the learning of it. 

Before you begin to read, if the room is strange to you, 
you should make trial of your voice, to be assured that 
the whole company can hear you distinctly ; for, if they 
fail to do so, not only are the distant deprived of whatever 
pleasure you can give them, but there is sure to be rest- 
lessness among those who cannot hear, which will disturb 
those of the audience within earshot, and annoy you not 
a little. To ascertain this, station a friend at the ex- 
tremity of the room, and another about the middle of it. 
Tell the audience that, as it is your desire that all should 
hear, if they find they cannot do so perfectly, you will be 
obliged by their so intimating to }^ou at once, that you 
may endeavor to accommodate your voice to the space to 
be filled. Your friends should be instructed to answer 
this appeal, accordingly as they find ; and, as they inform 
you, so regulate your speaking. I recommend the 
stationing of a friend in the middle of the room, as well 
as at the far end of it, because I have frequently found 
that the voice is very distinctly heard at the far end, — 
probably by reflection from the walls or roof, — while it 
is entirely inaudible in the middle of the room ; and the 



1 82 Public Readings. 

more you raise the voice, the more the middle space is 
untouched by it. But to be heard distinctly it is not 
enough merely to speak louder. Indeed, if the voice 
be strained beyond its natural pitch, it becomes less 
audible, while you lose all control over its expression ; 
you are unable to vary its tones, and its power as an in- 
strument for kindling emotion is wholly lost. You will 
best secure a hearing by speaking in a key slightly raised 
above the talking key, by slow utterance, by studiously 
distinct articulation, by raising the voice (the upward 
inflection) at the end of every sentence, and by 
employing more of emphasis than w T ould be permissible 
in a smaller circle. Clearness is far more effective than 
loudness. 

In reading, much depends upon the management of 
your book. You must learn to read without poking your 
nose into it, or your voice will be sent down upon the 
floor, and not into the room. Your eyes must not be 
ever on the page ; they should turn continually from the 
page to the audience. This is an art that requires some 
practice to learn. You read at a glance, with vastly more 
speed than you can speak, an entire sentence, or some' 
complete part of a sentence ; this the mind seizes and 
retains sufficiently to enable you to remove the eye from 
the book and speak the words, from a momentary memory 
of them, while your eyes are upon your hearers. I cannot 
too earnestly impress upon you the importance of this 
process. The efficiency of your reading depends upon 
the more or less of ease with which you accomplish it, 
and, therefore, you cannot devote too much pains to its 
acquisition. The position of the book is another impor- 
tant consideration. If held before you, it will hide your 



Public Readings. 183 

face and stifle your voice. The most convenient arrange 
rnent is a book-stand, placed at a slight angle, permitting 
your face to be seen, but with especial care to avoid the 
opposite danger of your voice being diverted from its 
proper direction towards the centre of the room. If you 
have not attained to sufficient mastery of the art of read- 
ing in advance of utterance, you should read from behind 
a table or desk, having the book upon it, above which 
your head, at least, should be seen. In this position you 
have the advantage of facing your audience with no 
screen between you; the only difficulty to be overcome 
will be that of avoiding the tendency to look down too 
much upon the page lying below you, and so causing 
your voice to be directed to the book instead of being 
sent into the room. 

You will stand, of course. Only thus can you give the 
full compass to your voice. 

Your reading should be slow, — much more deliberate 
than in private. You must strive to articulate with 
almost pedantic precision ; distinct articulation is the 
primary condition of being distinctly heard. Next to 
that is the necessity for such management of the voice as 
shall prevent monotonj^. Indeed, the primary quality of 
effective reading is variety of intonation, according to the 
exigencies of your subject. So important is this, that it 
should be ever present to your thoughts while reading. 
Xo composition of any kind should be read without the 
introduction of some changes in tone ; and if these do not 
readily suggest themselves, you should study where you 
may best resort to them ; assured of this, — that to err by 
too much variety is better than to weary by monotony. 

Public reading must partake much of the character of 



184 Public Readings. 

acting. You must endeavor to do all that the actor does 
with his voice ; you should strive to be thoroughly dra- 
matic, even though your reading should be called theatri- 
cal. Throw yourself heartily into the theme, and give 
the rein to your emotions ; express what you feel, and 
try to feel what you read. 

For your own relief, as for that of your audience, select 
a variety of subjects, alternating the grave and the gay, 
prose and poetry, dialogue and discourse. Each is im- 
proved by contrast with the other. A list of the " Read- 
ings," which I have found from experience to be most 
attractive to the usual mixed audiences, may be useful to 
you, and all are excellent for private practice in the art 
of reading. 

Poetry, 
Pathetic and Narrative. 

The Bridge of Sighs Hood. 

The May Queen Tennyson. 

Good News from Ghent Browning. 

The Execution of Montrose Aytoun. 

Thanatopsis Bryant. 

The Village Blacksmith • . Longfellow, 

The Burial March of Dundee Aytoun. 

Bothwell " 

Death of Richard Coeur de Lion Reade. 

The Grandmother Tennyson. 

Poor Jack Dibdin. 

The Armada Macaulay. 

Inkermann Lushington. 

Charge of the Light Brigade Tennyson. 

Evening Prayer in a Girls' School .... Mrs. Hemans. 

Waterloo Byron. 

Death of Marmion - . . Scott. 

The Old Arm-Chair Thackeray. 

The Three Sons Moultrie. 

The Last of the Flock Wordsworth 



Public Readings. 185 



Mariana in the Moated Grange . • ♦ . . Tennyson. 

The Old Woman of Berkeley Southey. 

The Dream of Eugene Aram Hood. 

Dora Tennyson. 

Haunted Houses Longfellow. 

The Old Cumberland Beggar ...... Wordsworth 

Morning Hymn in Paradise Milton. 

The Death of Haidee Byron. 

Genevieve Coleridge. 

To the East Wind Kingsley. 

The Cry of the Children .' Mrs. Browning* 

The Prisoner of Chillon Byron. 

Lays of Ancient Rome Macaulay. 

The Deserted Village Goldsmith. 

S(?Tig of the Shirt Hood. 

Battle of the Baltic Campbell. 

Exile of Erin " 

Lord Ullin's Daughter " 

The Parting of the King Tennyson 1 s Idyls. 

Morte d' Arthur Tennyson. 

The Two Angels Longfellow. 

The Old Clock on the Stairs " 

The Spectre Host « 

The Isles of Greece Byron. 

Ode to a Nightingale Keats. 

Ode to Immortality Wordsworth. 

Humorous Poetry. 

Pilgrims and the Pease Peter Pindar. 

The Jackdaw of Rheims Barham. 

My Lord Tomnoddy " 

John Gilpin Cowper. 

The Piper Browning* 

Ben Battle Hood. 

The Frenchman and the Rats Colman* 

The Drapers' Petition Hood. 

The Vulgar Little Boy Barhanu 

Dramatic axd Narrative Readings. 

Trial Scene in " Pickwick " " Pickwich** 

The Lady in the Yellow Curl Papers ... " 



1 86 Public Readings. 

The Death of Paul Dombey Dickens. 

Bob Sawyer's Party " Pickwick" 

Mrs. Gamp and Betsy Prig Dickens. 

The Election " Pickwick." 

Pickwick before the Justice ...... " 

The Skating Scene . . . " 

The First of September " 

Mr. Winkle's Bide " 

The Boarding School " 

Sam Weller's Valentine " 

Mrs. Nickleby's Lover " Nicholas Nicklcby." 

Clarence's Dream Shakespeare. 

The Critic (First Act) Sheridan. 

Falstaff at Gadshill V ' jg* #£? j$ 

The Clerk of Copmanhurst and the Knight . " Ivanhoe." 

Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius " Julius Ccesar." 

The Library Scene in " The School for 

Scandal" Sheridan. 

The Duel Scene in " The Rivals " . . . . " 

The Emperor's New Clothes Andersscn. 

The Boots at the Holly Tree Inn Dickens. 

The Cricket on the Hearth " 

" It is Never too Late 
to Mend." 

11 Much Ado about 
Nothing" 

The Death of Caesar " Julius Cazsar." 

The Murder of Banquo " Macbeth." 

The Story of Le Fevre Sterne. 



The Lark in the Gold Fields j 

Benedick and Beatrice < 



Carefully prepare the books from which you read. 
Choose a bold type, for three reasons : first, to avoid 
mistakes from confused sight ; second, that you may keep 
your face as far as possible from the page ; and, third, 
that when your e} T es are turned from the page to the 
audience, as suggested above, they may readily revert to 
the words last seen ; and for this purpose you should lay 



Public Readings. 187 

your left hand upon the leaf, the finger marking the line 
at which you are reading ; hence the importance of the 
book lying on a rest instead of being held in your hand. 
Prepare the book by perusing slowly, pencil in hand, 
the compositions you purpose to read, and strike out 
superfluous words in narrative, passages that are dull, 
uninteresting, and not essential to the right understand- 
ing of the theme. A story told will often admit of ex- 
tensive curtailment, without loss of effect ; and thus 
narratives and dramatic pieces, much too long for a 
reading, if given entire, may be introduced with ad- 
vantage, largely extending your range of choice. In 
dialogue, strike out thus all the interspersed " said he," 
" she answered," " exclaimed Mr. Smith, looking at his 
watch," and such like, without which a written dialogue 
would not be intelligible, but which you should so read, 
that, by your changes of voice and manner, the audience 
may instantly recognize the character that speaks. 

So, likewise, score with a line, or with two lines, as 
the case may be, the words or passages which you pur- 
pose to emphasize especially ; for, in the intense absorp- 
tion of the mind in reading, you are liable, unless very 
familiar with your subject, to begin a sentence in a tone 
not precisely adapted for the ending of it, and an excess 
of emphasis at the beginning will seriously mar the effect 
of it at the close. While you are yet a learner, it would 
be well to make extensive use of this plan of marking 
your pages for guidance upon the platform in the manner 
of reading resolved upon in the study. 

The most able of our public readers has adopted the 
convenient practice of cutting his favorite "readings" 
out of the volumes in which they are found and pasting 



1 88 Public Readings. 

them into a volume made of blank leaves. In this man- 
ner he is enabled to carry with him under one cover all 
that he requires for several evenings, avoiding the incon- 
venience that attends the conveyance of a small library, 
with the added advantage of an ample choice, should a 
change in the programme be desired, ready finding of the 
successive readings, and having them always at hand 
prepared for use by excision and scoring in the manner 
recommended. 

You will spoil a few volumes in the process, but, by 
taking opportunities to procure second-hand and injured 
books, the cost would be but trifling as compared with 
the convenience, should you assist the Public Readings as 
often as you ought to do, if capable. 

Variety in the entertainment will be secured, and the 
pleasure of the company much enhanced, by reading 
dialogue in parts, as it would be acted, each character 
being read by a different reader. Short farces thus well 
read are extremely effective. An entire play, even one 
of Shakespeare's, may be produced thus, provided a 
sufficient number of tolerable readers can be obtained ; 
but that is a grave difficulty, of course. Where music 
belongs to the drama, the effect is further heightened by 
the introduction of the appropriate music. Thus, u Mac- 
beth," judiciously curtailed, the heavier scenes being 
omitted, with all of Locke's music interspersed, forms a 
pleasing and most attractive entertainment. So also does 
" As You Like It." It is scarcely necessary to say that 
care must be exercised in the selection of readers on such 
occasions ; and there should be repeated rehearsals before 
a competent critic, who should freely point out faults and 
prompt amendment. 



Public Readings. 189 

Music, indeed, mingles well with readings, relieving 
the ear, and giving rest to the mind. The change imparts 
new zest to each in its turn. The hints I have here sup- 
plied are the result of personal experience, and, there- 
fore, practical. 



ART OF SPEAKING. 

— *oX«o« — 

%ZtXtX ££]££♦ 

SPEAKING. 

The art of speaking is based upon the arts of writing 
and reading, which are the proper introductions to it. 
The orator should have perfect command of thoughts, 
words, and utterance. You must have ideas or emotions 
which you desire to express ; you must have the right 
words in which to clothe them ; and you must speak 
those words in the manner that will convey them the 
most thoroughly into the minds of those who hear them. 
To adopt a popular phrase, the art of oratory presents 
itself in two great divisions, — What to speak, and liovo to 
speak it. 

But oratory is something more than the arts of writing 
and reading combined. You may be able to write an 
excellent essay, and yet unable to compose a tolerable 
speech ; so you may read well, but speak badly. The 
arts, are, therefore, not identical, but they are very near 
of kin. C ceteris paribus, a good writer and reader will be 
a better speaker than he who writes imperfectly and reads 
badly. Almost all the hints that have been given to you 
in former letters for learning how to write and how to 

190 



Speaking. 191 

read are equally applicable to learning how to speak. I 
do not propose to repeat them, but, assuming that you 
have read them and given them such consideration as 
they may appear to you to deserve, I will begin by point- 
ing out to you where they diverge, and what further you 
must do to accomplish yourself in the art that is the 
highest and ultimate object of your ambition. 

As before, I must guard myself from the imputation of 
vanity in attempting to teach you how to speak. I can- 
not pretend to be able to do what I think ought to be 
done for the acquirement or the practice of oratory. I 
profess nothing more than to have given some thought to 
the subject, and solved some of its difficulties, and I 
hope, therefore, that I may be enabled to convey a few 
useful precepts, although I could exhibit no satisfactory 
example. 

As I have already stated, the first subject for consid- 
eration will be what to say, the second how to say it ; in 
other words, first, the matter, second, the manner. 

The composition of a speech, whether prepared or 
extempore, will be considered with some care, and this 
will be followed by hints for the art of uttering it in the 
manner most effective for its purpose. This will com- 
prise the cultivation of the voice and gesture, with the 
minor graces that constitute the finished orator. Hints 
for the study of these will be submitted to you. The 
various kinds of oratory, with the requirements of each, 
will be separately treated of. but with more especial 
reference to the oratory of the bar and of the platform, 
as those to which your practice will be most frequently 
directed. 

Such is the outline of the design contemplated for the 



192 Speaking. 

completion of the subject which I have sought to "bring 
under your consideration in these letters. It involves 
many incidental topics, which I purpose to treat as they 
arise, in association with the main thread of the argu- 
ment. As before, my aim is to offer you some practical^ 
hints for self-teaching, gathered from observation or sug- 
gested by reflection. Although I have no pretension to 
be an orator, I do not write wholly from theory. The 
requirements of my profession have compelled me to 
give some attention to the art, and that which I learned 
with difficulty and labor, because I had no guide, I am 
desirous of conveying to you in a form which I hope may 
give you the sum of much tentative toil, and the benefit 
of combined thought and experience. I do not place it 
before you as a system. I have constructed no elaborate 
scheme ; I have no formulas to prescribe, and scarcely 
anything to propound in the nature of positive rule. A 
true orator, like a poet, must be born such ; he cannot be 
made. I can pretend to nothing more than to tell you 
what you should try to do, and what you should endeavor 
to avoid, throwing out suggestions of apt means for cul- 
tivating the mental and physical faculties requisite to 
success. 

Butj although you may be wanting in the capacities 
needful to a great orator, you may certainly train your- 
self to be a good speaker, — that is to say, you may learn 
to express your thoughts aloud, in language that makes 
them clearly intelligible to your audience, and in a man- 
ner that is not painful to them. The foundation of the 
art of speaking is, of course, the possession of ideas to be 
spoken. A speech cannot be constructed without thoughts 
of some kind to be expressed in words. You must fill 



Sfteahing. 193 

your mind with ideas somehow. Wanting these, it is 
useless to attempt the art ; but, having them, the utter- 
ance of them, both in language and delivery, is to some 
extent a matter of training. The power of words is, 
indeed, denied to some men, though they are few ; more 
frequently the voice is defective ; in other cases nature has 
made gracefulness of manner impossible ; but these, 
though essential to oratory, are not necessary to speaking, 
and you may become a very tolerable speaker, though 
wanting in some, or deficient in all, of the qualities I am 
about to describe. Therefore, I exhort you not to be 
dismayed by seeming obstacles at the beginning. Be 
resolute in self-training.; proceed persistently, in spite of 
repeated failure ; fear not to break down ; measure your 
faults, and put them to mending ; be earnest and un- 
wearied in the pursuit of your object, and you will 
assuredly attain it. 

The uses of the art, its advantages to all men, but 
especially to a lawyer, need no description. They must 
be patent to you, for everywhere you see men who have 
risen to the highest places solely by virtue of this accom- 
plishment. In a free country it must ever be so. The 
man who can express powerfully what others feel, but 
are unable to express, wields the united power of all the 
minds of whom he is the exponent. There is no such 
personal influence as that enjoyed by the orator, for he 
not only implants his thoughts in other men, but directs 
them to action. The man who can stand up and speak 
aloud to an assembly a single sentence intelligibly has a 
faculty that sets him in power and efficiency far above 
his fellows. Such an accomplishment is worth a great 
deal of patient industry to attain, and if I cannot pretend 
13 



194 Foundations of the 

to teach it, I may, perhaps, be enabled to put you in the 
way of learning it, even although I am unable to practise 
my own preaching. 



Hetter £££♦ 

FOUNDATIONS OF THE'ABT OF SPEAKING. 

Instinctively you will change the structure of the 
sentences, and even the words, to express the self-same 
thought in talking, in writing, or in speaking. But it 
does not therefore follow that you will instinctively frame 
your speech of the best words in the best places, and 
utter them in the most effective manner. These are 
matters for education, the product of artistic training and 
much practice. I have shown you before that reading is 
not a matter of course ; so neither does excellent oratory 
come from nature. You will often hear it asserted other- 
wise, and there seems to be a prevalent impression, 
among those who have never given thought to the subject, 
that an}^ man who can read words can pronounce them 
properly ; that words will come when they are wanted ; 
and that, if you find the words, }^ou may be an orator 
without further labor. Few have formed the slightest 
conception of the number and variety of the qualifications 
essential to effective speaking, — how the memory must 
be filled with facts and words ; how the intellect must be 
cultivated to rapid understanding and still more rapid 
reasoning ; how the feelings must be at once powerful 
and under perfect control ; how the voice must be trained 



Art of Speaking. 195 

to give the full expression, and the taste to impart the 
true tones, infinite]}' varied, to the entire of the discourse. 
Then the mind must be exercised to a rapid flow of ideas 
and to the instant composition of sentences wherein to 
clothe them ; add to these, a voice attuned to sweetness 
as well as power, and the limbs tutored to graceful action, 
and you have a short summary of the requirements neces- 
sary for an orator. 

You will see from this that there is a task before you 
that will demand all your energies and perseverance, for 
it will be a work of long labor. You will say, perhaps, 
that there are books and teachers enough to help you to 
your object, — books that profess to impart the whole art 
of oratory, and teachers of elocution who promise to make 
you an accomplished speaker in a certain number of 
lessons. As I have stated in the preceding letters on 
the art of reading, I have looked with care into many of 
these books, and listened to some of these teachers, and 
I must confess that I have found in them very little that 
was calculated to train a student to oratory. The rules 
propounded are usually pedantic and often impracticable. 
Inasmuch as every student requires a different training, 
according to the specialties of his natural gifts, — his 
peculiar intellect, temperament, and physique, — very few 
general rules can be prescribed ; so few, indeed, that it 
would be better to abolish the term, and substitute merely 
hints and suggestions for strict formulas. Teachers of 
elocution too often impart to their pupils a mannerism 
that is more disagreeable than even positive incapacity. 
It is less painful to listen to an awkward or stumbling 
speaker than to a stiff, constrained, and artificial orator, 
who is manifestlv talking by rule. 



196 The Art of Speaking — 

But the foundations of the art of oratory may be 
described in a few words. 

The first qualifications of an orator is to have something 
to say. 

The second is to sit doiun ivhen he has said it. 

These have been already described at some length in 
my third letter ; to that I refer you, asking you at this 
place to render repetition unnecessary by turning back to 
those pages, and reperusing them, for they cannot be too 
firmly imprinted upon your memory. 



letter IXZK. 

THE ART OF SPEARING— WHAT TO SAY— 
COMPOSITION. 

It seems like a truism to tell you that before you speak 
you should have something to say. But it is a necessary 
caution ; nothing is more common than to hear a man 
speak for a long time and utter nothing but words — 
words — words — without a grain of thought at the heart 
of them. The popular ear so readily mistakes fluency 
for eloquence, and copious language for abundant wisdom, 
that ignorance and emptiness may be well excused for 
venturing where real ability fears to tread. Now, as there 
is nothing easier than " bald, disjointed chat," or speech 
"full of sound and fury, signifying — nothing," there is 
some danger of your falling into it, unless you resolve, 
from the beginning of your career, never to speak unless 



What to Say — Composition. 197 

you have something to say, then to say what you have to 
say, and to sit down again when you have said it. 

All this appears very easy on paper, but it is very 
difficult in practice. A true orator must possess the full 
mind as well as the ready mind. He must know much, 
and think much ; he must open his eyes and ears to 
receive knowledge of all kinds from all quarters, and his 
mind must be ever busily at work reflecting upon the 
knowledge thus acquired. Indeed, there is no sort of 
intelligence that will not come into use at some time. I 
can, therefore, propose to you no scheme of studies 
wherewith to lay the foundation of oratory, for it is to 
be pursued everywhere, and comprises everything. The 
only rule I can give you is, to learn all you can, from all 
sources and of all kinds. Practise the art of writing, as 
already suggested to you, diligently, as being the best 
preparation for oratory. The instructions there given are 
to be pursued, but with another purpose. The art of 
writing will assist you to the art of speaking ; but it is 
not all that you require, and you must rightly understand 
and carefully keep in view the differences between them, 
which I will now endeavor to explain to you. 

There are three ways of expressing your thoughts, 
talking, writing, and speaking. I use the familiar terms, 
because they convey my meaning more accurately than 
finer phrases. If you were required to express the same 
thought, or tell the same story, first, to a fireside circle, 
afterwards, in an article for a newspaper, and, finally, in 
a speech to an assembly, you would certainly do so in 
three very different forms of composition, and in two, if not 
three, sets of words. If you had made no preparation for 
either performance, you would fall unconsciously into the 



198 The Art of Speaking — 

natural style appropriate to each situation. Only when 
you may have educated yourself into a bad habit of con- 
founding the styles, would you spout an essay or talk 
a speech. 

Talk differs from writing or a speech in this, that it is 
a broken, and not a continuous stream of thought. Talk- 
ing implies the participation of others in the discourse. 
If you have all the talk to yourself, it is not talking, but 
declamation or preaching ; that is to say, it is not an 
interchange of thoughts, but merely the utterance dog- 
matically of your own ideas. The manner is as different 
as the matter ; you assume unconsciously the colloquial 
tone, which does not assert or affirm, but suggests, sub- 
mits to consideration, puts an argument interrogatively, 
as if to say, " Do you not think so?" "Is not that 
right?" " Are you of the same opinion?" " What say 
you to it?" Thus stimulating conversation by inviting 
the free expression of differences. You do not say of 
any proposition that it is so," but that " such is your view 
of it," " so it seems to you," and you ask if your com- 
panions " agree with you." Necessarily, your sentences 
are short, your words are expressive rather than select, 
and the perfection of talk is brilliant dialogue. 

Now set yourself to write on the same subject ; how 
different will be the framework ! You desire to express 
the same thoughts. At once your mind falls into another 
mood. Now, you discourse without let or hindrance ; 
you have it all your own way ; you do not look for inter- 
ruption, nor invite dissent; you make assertions, you 
pursue a course of argument, you say, "it is," or "it is 
not ; " the stream of thought flows on continuously until 
it is exhausted. In accordance with these features of 



What to Say — Composition. 199 

your thoughts is the composition of the language in 
which the}' are expressed. Your thoughts are distinctly 
conceived, your words are well weighed, your style is 
formal ; you arrange your words in a different order, and 
are studious of the strict rules of composition, for that 
which is to be read permits of transpositions forbidden 
to that which is to be spoken. 

But if you speak upon the same subject, although you 
desire to express the same thoughts, you will naturally 
do so in a different fashion. If you were to speak as you 
had written, you would probably be unintelligible to half 
your audience and uninteresting to all ; your discourse 
would appear intolerably starched, dogmatical, and dry. 
The reason of this is, that the mind of the hearer must 
follow the words of the speaker as fast as he utters them, 
and unless those words convey the thought at once, with- 
out sending the mind backwards or forwards in search of 
it, it falls by the way, or, what is worse, it is misunder- 
stood. The reader can pause to reflect, he can reperuse 
any passage not instantly intelligible ; but if the listener 
does not seize it on the instant of its expression by the 
speaker, it is lost to him altogether, without hope of 
recovery. 

You will now see, I trust, wherein lies the difference 
between composition for speaking and for writing. Ora- 
tory requires, not only its own language, but its own 
composition ; the framework in which a speaker's thoughts 
are set differs widely from that employed by the talker or 
the writer. The style is more formal than that of the 
former, ami less formal than that of the latter. A speech 
that resembled talking would be an impertinence ; a 
speech like an essa}' would be a bore. You must learn 



200 The Art of Speaking— 

the mean between them. Writing is, nevertheless, the 
foundation of speaking, and will be found the best prac- 
tice to qualify you to be a speaker. You should write 
much upon the topics on which you expect to be required 
to speak much, and this for two purposes : first, to culti- 
vate ideas upon them ; and, second, to learn how to 
express those ideas with precision. The habit of putting 
your thoughts into writing affords the only guaranty 
that those thoughts have substance in them, and are not 
merely vague and formless fancies. When first you come 
to set down upon paper your ideas upon any subject, 
however you may imagine yourself to be well acquainted 
with it, you will be surprised to find how dreamy and 
shapeless are the thoughts you had supposed to be so 
distinct and sj^mmetrical. The pen is a provoking fetter 
upon the flights of fancy; but it is a wholesome cure, 
and makes you a sensible man instead of a dreamy f x>l. 
Write, therefore, often and much, preferring the subjects 
on which you may anticipate that you will be required 
to speak. 

But there is danger to be avoided. You write for the 
sake of acquiring clear and rapid thoughts and expressive 
words, — nothing more. This is all writing can teach you 
that will serve you in speaking. What more you may 
]#arn from the practice of writing will be injurious, and 
will require strenuous exertions to avoid. I have told 
you already that the framework of spoken thought differs 
widely from that of written thought. In so far as the 
style of written composition differs from that of speech, 
you must keep strict watch over yourself to prevent the 
practice becoming a habit. This is the difficulty and 
danger, for which I can suggest no way of escape save 



Cautions — Hovj to Begin. 201 

your own vigilance. It is something to know where 
danger lies, and you should keep the memory of it ever 
before you. Perhaps the best counteraction would be to 
revise what you have written, thinking how you would 
have said the same thing had you spoken instead of 
written it* and sometimes even to rewrite it as if it had 
been designed for a speech ; the comparison will show 
you the difference in the manner, and disturb the habit 
of throwing your thoughts into the peculiar form of 
written composition, which otherwise might become 
unmanageable. 



Hetter HHL 

CAUTIONS — HOW TO BEGIN. 

The practice of writing a speech must be pursued with 
this caution, that you guard yourself against acquiring 
the mannerism that belongs to it,' and which very little 
experience will teach you to detect in any speaker who 
has written his speech and recites it from memory. Both 
thoughts and words, in written discourse, unconsciously, 
and in spite of your efforts at prevention, marshal them- 
selves in an order different from that which they fall into 
when spoken. By recommending to you the practice of 
composition with the pen, I do not therefore design to 
encourage the writing of speeches. There is, indeed, no 
error against which I would more emphatically warn you ; 
but unless you can compose rapidly using the pen, you 
will not do so using the lips ; you may, indeed, talk 



202 Cautions — How to Begin. 

sound sense, but you will talk it so badly that it will be 
painful to listen to you. 

The object of oratory is to influence your audience by 
convincing or persuading them ; by satisfying their judg- 
ments or kindling and attracting their sympathies. Your 
purpose is not, or ought not to be, to astonish them by 
ingenuity, or to gratify their tastes by your art. You 
appeal to their reason, or to their feelings, or to both, 
with intent to induce them to share your convictions or 
your emotions. Hence the presence of earnestness on 
your part is necessar}^ to success. The mere appearance 
of conviction — an obvious sincerity of belief in the 
cause you are advocating — will often make more converts 
than the most unanswerable arguments ; and such is the 
sympathy of human feelings, that the presence of real 
emotion in you is sure to command the emotions of your 
hearers ; while the absence of it, or the show of it only, 
however well acted, will as certainly fail to carry an 
audience along with you. Mind is moved by mind ; feel- 
ings are stirred by feelings. The orator must nevei 
forget the poet's truth, 

" That we have all of us one human heart." 

There are vast variances of intellect descending from 
Shakespeare to an idiot. The intelligence of an audience 
varies immensely, the best certainly not being the most 
numerous. Taste, fancy, perception, apprehension, and 
comprehension are as unlike in different persons as their 
features, and the full possession of these powers is as 
rare as beauty. But the emotions are nearly the same in 
all of us, of what class or training soever. Education 
cannot create, nor neglect destroy them. Your most 



Cautions — How to Begin. 203 

convincing appeals to the reason will be understood by 
few ; the brightest pictures of your fancy will call up the 
like pictures only in the select of your listeners ; your 
wit will be appreciated but by the most refined ; and your 
most exquisite language will be understood by those only 
whose tastes have been cultivated like your own. But 
your emotions will find an echo in every breast, even the 
rudest ; 3-ou will touch all minds simply by the force of 
sympatlry. The just and the right will bring down 
applause, even from those who rarely do right or practise 
justice. Generous sentiments will be welcomed with 
hearty cheers ; righteous indignation will make the most 
sluggish bosom heave and the dullest eye flash. If you 
doubt this, go to any public assembly, and mark what 
most wins the ear and stirs the heart. Enter a theatre, 
and note what the galleries are the first to perceive and 
the heartiest to applaud. Not the wit, nor the wisdom, 
nor the loftiest flights of poetry ; but the generous 
sentiment, the noble deed, the true word, the honest 
indignation. 

Think of this when you find your audience cold and 
uns3 T mpathizing. Be then assured that the fault is in 
yourself; that you have not measured them aright ; that 
they are not of intelligence sufficiently large and loft}' 
for the height of your great argument. But bethink you 
also that they are men, and, if they have not minds, they 
assuredly have hearts. Cease to talk to the intellect and 
appeal to the feelings, and you will certainly succeed, — ^ 
if to succeed be 3'our ambition. 

And that is the purpose of speaking. The object of 
oratory is to move your audience. If } T ou desire to per- 
suade the distant or the future, you appeal to them through 



204 Cautions — How to Begin. 

the pen and the printing press. If you strive after both 
effects, you will probably fail in both, for the manner of 
address is different. You will never carry an audience 
with you by a spoken essay ; 3-011 will never captivate a 
reader by a printed oration. The utmost that can be said 
of a recited discourse is, " How very clever ! " The ut- 
most you can say of an oration you read is, " How that 
would have moved me if I had heard it ! " 

Have, then, these maxims ever before you : — 

1. That the one purpose of oratory is to persuade your 
audience. 

2. That an appeal to the sentiments and feelings of a 
mixed audience is always more effective than an appeal 
to their reason. 

3. That to kindle emotions in your hearers you must 
yourself be moved. 

Bat you must not begin your practice of written com- 
position by writing speeches. Begin with a plain narra- 
tive in the plainest words. Eschew fine writing. Do 
not think it necessary to adopt a new language because 
you have a pen in your hand and paper before you. The 
fit words will come when you have clear thoughts and 
they have learned to flow freely. Take courage — and it 
does require some courage at first — to call a spade by its 
proper name, " a spade ;" that name will give a more 
correct idea of the thing you wished to say than any 
possible periphrasis. By way of beginning, relate some 
incident } T ou may have witnessed ; resolve to describe it 
precisely as you saw it, and as you would have told it to 
a friend in the street, with no more effort as to the manner 
of telling it. You will be surprised to find how difficult 
this is. Nevertheless, go on ; say something. Do it as 



Cautions — Haw to Begin. 205 

well as you can. Having done it, read aloud what you 
have written. You will doubtless be ashamed of the 
senseless jumble. But spare your blushes ; you have 
failed in common with many of unquestioned capacity. 
In truth, the thing you have been striving to do is the 
most difficult achievement in composition, — the last to 
which experience attains. To say what you have to say 
in few but simple words is the highest accomplishment of 
art. Be not, therefore, disheartened ; correct the work 
you have done ; or, better still, if you have a practised 
friend, ask him to go through it with you, point out your 
faults, and make you correct it in his presence, correction 
upon correction, until the work assumes a decent shape. 
,And in the performance of this process write each 
improved edition below the former one, so that you may 
compare the last with the first, and any one with any 
other, and trace the march of improvement and learn the 
faults to be avoided. 

From plain narrative proceed to essay, to argument, to 
declamation, to poetry, — very necessary to accustom you 
to give the glow. of color to your thoughts and music to 
your words. It matters not that your prose and your 
poetry are equally unfit for publication ; that is not your 
object. Think not of it as such, but solely as a lesson, 
which you may thrust into the fire as soon as it is finished. 
Indeed, better that } r ou do so, and then it will never cause 
you to be put to shame through the vanity of appearing 
in print. Write as many lines to Celia and Delia as you 
please ; the more of them the better for your education 
in oratory ; but have the courage to burn them before the 
ink is dry. At last, when you are well practised, when 
you can write with tolerable fluency and correctness, and 



206 Cautions — How to Begin. 

throw some thought into what you write, — not stifled 
hi a cloud of fine words, nor disguised in roundabout 
phrases, nor the nouns buried beneath the adjectives, — 
begin to write imaginary speeches in a modest way. 

To do this rightly you must surround yourself with an 
ideal audience, and you may further become, in fancy, 
any orator of fame ; or, what is better, imagine yourself 
an orator, winning the ears and moving the hearts of an 
excited and admiring multitude. Choose for your theme 
some topic of the day that may have interested you, and 
upon which you have feelings, and perhaps believe that 
you have decided opinions, large and liberal. Before you 
begin to write, close your eyes, — not to go to sleep, but 
the better to bring the picture before the eye of the mind !l 
— and then think what you would say to charm such an 
•audience as your fancy has conjured up. You will 
experience a rush of fine thoughts and eloquent words. 
Seize } r our pen instantly, and set them down. Why do 
you pause before half a dozen words are inscribed, — bite 
your pen, — write another word or two, — pause again, — 
draw your pen through the writing, — write another 
word, — erase that, — and then close your eyes and 
address yourself again to thought? Wherefore are not 
the thoughts that came so quickly before you began to 
write as quickly caught and fixed upon the paper ; and 
where are the words that then flowed so richly ? Ah ! 
when you come to put them into shape, you learn how 
merely fanciful they were ; how unsubstantial the ideas, 
how chaotic the language ! It was to teach you this truth 
that you were recommended to write. It is the surest 
means of learning the lesson of your incapacity, and it is 
at the same time its best remedy. The first step is taken, 



The First Lesson , etc. 207 

and a most important one it is. You have learned that 
an ordinary array of thought, clothed in appropriate 
language, is not attained without diligent study, long 
labor, and much practice. The path is now cleared of 
the obstruction of self-confidence ; you know your weak- 
ness and what and how much you have to acquire, and 
therefore you are in a condition to begin the work of self- 
teaching. You will commence with an attempt to write 
a speech. 



letter SXS03L 

THE FIBST LESSOX— WBITING A SPEECH, 

Do not be discouraged by the difficulties. All that is 
worth having is difficult at first. In despite of pauses, 
pen-bitings, and obliterations, still, I sa} T , persevere. 
Every successive sentence will be easier to compose than 
was its predecessor. But remember that you must have 
something to say. Be assured that } T ou have really a dis- 
tinct and definite conception in your mind of an idea 
which you desire to convey to other minds. So long as 
you are merely thinking, you cannot be sure that your 
thought is clear. Is it an argument? Often you jump 
at the conclusion without regarding the intermediate 
steps ; your sentiments are still more frequently but 
indistinct emotions, which you mistake for thoughts ; 
and the imperfections in your narrative do not force 
themselves upon your attention until you are compelled 
to put it into shape. Hence, at the beginning, it is 



208 The First Lesson — 

necessary that you should test yourself by trial in pri* 
vate, before you risk the chance of learning your defects 
by a public failure. The best gauge of your power to 
think is to write down your thoughts ; for thus you learn 
what your thoughts are worth, as well as in what words 
to express them. 

Therefore, before you attempt to speak a speech, write 
one. Choose your theme, and ask yourself this plain 
question. " What do I want to say about this subject? " 

In speech you may say much that would be inad- 
missible in writing. Written declamation is disagree- 
able, but declamation may be employed with great effect 
in speech. The structure of the sentence differs in the 
two forms of discourse, and the very language is unlike. 
A spoken essay would be as intolerable as a written 
oration. In the essay, we look for thoughts ; in the 
speech, mainly for sentiments and emotions. The former 
is supposed to be the utterance of profound reflection in 
skilfully constructed sentences ; the latter is the outpour- 
ing of the mind in the words that rush to the tongue, 
regardless of the orderly array prescribed to deliberate 
composition. 

Nevertheless, you should try to write a speech before 
you attempt to speak one. But write it as you would 
speak it. To do this you must exercise your imagination, 
and suppose yourself to be in the presence of an audience, 
upon your feet, about to address them on some theme 
familiar to you ; acting, as it were, as your own reporter. 
Doubtless you believe your mind to be full of fine ideas, 
and your brain overflowing with apt words wherein to 
clothe them. Before you have written three lines, you 
will be amazed to discover that those crowding thoughts 



Writing' a Speech. 209 

i 
are very shadow}^ and indefinite, those thick - coming 
fancies little better than dreams, and the glowing words 
extremely reluctant to fall into orderly array. In fact, 
you will find that you have yet to learn your lesson, and 
to do so you must begin with the rudiments of the art. 

And great, indeed, will be the value of this first lesson, 
if only it should teach you thus much, — that you have 
everything to learn. The first step to all knowledge is 
the knowledge of our ignorance. 

You will find your pen halting for thoughts and words ; 
if you try to dash along careless of what you write, you 
will be displeased with yourself when you read what you 
have written. But be of good courage ; already, by you* 
failure, jou have taken a long step towards success. Xow 
you have measured your incapacity and the difficulties to 
be conquered even at the threshold of your study. You 
will thenceforward make rapid progress, with the help of 
patience and perseverance. 

Xo matter how slowly the work is done — do it. Com- 
plete your exercise in some shape, however clumsy, 
The express purpose of this first lesson is not so much to 
teach you what to do, as to convince you by experiment 
what you cannot do. 

Having made two or three trials in this way, until you 
are able to express some definite thoughts in definite 
language, you may advance to the next process and 
attempt the construction of a formal speech — this also 
in writing, but written precisely as you would have 
spoken it — in the style and language of oratory. Begin 
by sketching an outline of your proposed treatment of 
the theme. Asking yourself " What have I to sa} T about 
it?" note in two or three suggestive words the ideas a.9 
H 



210 The First Lesson — 

i 
they occur to you in meditation. Afterwards arrange 
these in orderly fashion, so that the discourse may assume 
something like a logical shape, the parts of it appearing 
to grow naturally out of one another, with a definite 
beginning and a definite end. 

This done, expand the "headings" into a speech, still 
bearing in mind that you are supposed to be talking, 
not writing. When it is completed, stand up, paper in 
hand, and spout your performance to the tables and 
chairs. Thus you will learn if it comes trippingly on 
the tongue, and likewise something of its sound. As 
yet you need not be over-critical upon its merits as a 
composition. Doubtless it is full of faults ; somewhat 
stilted, flowery in language, abounding in what the 
Americans call u bunkum," and on the whole unsatis- 
factoiy. Every young orator falls into these faults. 
Fine talking and fine writing are the universal sins of 
inexperience, certain to be corrected by time. There is 
only one defect that is never cured, one fault for which 
there is no hope, — the penny-a-lining style, significantly 
called " the high polite." The mind, once taken posses- 
sion of by that modern jargon, never throws it off; per- 
haps because the infection can be caught onty by a mind 
essentially vulgar and conceited, and the presence of it 
proves incapacity even for the appreciation of something 
better. 

Your language cannot be too simple, by which I mean, 
plain, pure Saxon English. It is at once intelligible to 
the common people, and pleasing to the educated taste. 
It is one of the secrets of the success of all the great 
popular orators. English — the English of the Bible, of 
Shakespeare, of Defoe, of Bunyan, of Dryden, of Swift — 



Writing a Speech. 211 

is singularly expressive and pictorial ; and being for the 
most part the language of daily life, it is instinctively 
understood by an audience who cannot pause upon a 
word to reflect what the speaker means by it, for this 
would be to fall behind him in the discourse. After you 
have written your imaginary speech, read it over twice or 
thrice, for the sole purpose of detecting and changing 
words for which a more homely expression can be found, 
and do not rest content with your performance until 
every foreign word for which there is a Saxon equivalent 
has been banished ; and, whenever you alight upon a 
46 high polite " word or phrase, away with it, even if } t ou 
are obliged to substitute the longest word in the dic- 
tionary. Magniloquence is simply silly ; the penny-a- 
lining style is horribly vulgar. 

Carefully eschew metaphors, similes, and the flowers 
of speech. The tendency of all young orators, as of 
young writers, is to lavish them profusely, and inexperience 
is wont to measure its own merits, and perhaps the merits 
of others, by the extent of that kind of ornament. Good 
taste does not banish them altogether, but it prescribes 
the use of them so rarely, and only on such appropriate 
themes and special occasions, that your safest course will 
be to exclude them wholly from your first endeavors, and 
only to permit their introduction when you have made 
some progress, and where their aptitude is very apparent. 
A flowery speaker may attract at first, but he soon 
wearies ; and wheresoever oratory is to be applied to the 
practical uses of life, as in the senate or at the bar, the 
orator who indulges largely in ornament of this kind will 
soon weary and disgust an audience intent upon business. 

These hints for the general structure of a speech may 



212 The Art of Sfeahing — 

perhaps assist you in that which I again recommend to 
you for the first lesson, — the writing of a speech, as 
nearly as you can, in the very words in which you would 
desire to speak it. 



better SSSJEU*. 

THE ABT OF SPEAKING — FIB ST LESSONS. 

The speech being thus written, stand and speak it, 
giving full play to the voice, but using no action. Imag- 
ine the furniture to be an audience, and " get up " all the 
fervor you can to address them. The object of this is 
twofold ; partly to practise you in the mechanics of 
oratory, but mainly to enable you to detect faults in your 
composition that may not be discovered by the eye or the 
mind. When you utter it aloud, your tongue and your 
ear together will speedily inform you if you are wanting 
in some of the graces of oratory, or have indulged too 
much in its conceits. A sentence, smooth to the mental 
ear when read " to yourself," will tune harsh discords 
and unpleasing notes when spoken by the tongue ; a 
phrase that seemed most potent when you conceived it 
is found to be most pitiful when you bring it forth ore 
rotundo; a sentiment that occupied a quarter of an hour 
in its development stumbles upon the lips and falls flat 
upon the ear. As you discover these defects, mark them 
upon the manuscript and correct them. Then read again, 
and observe the improvements and the defects thai- 



First Lessons. 213 

remain. Treat these in the same manner, until they have 
disappeared and you can read right through the papei 
without offence to your ear or your good taste. This is 
all you should attempt in the form of reading. You 
must not use action, for it is impossible to use fit action 
while the eye is fixed upon a book or paper, and ungainly 
movements are more easily acquired than shaken off 
again. The primary purpose of this lesson in self-teach- 
ing is the composition, and not the utterance, of a speech. 
That will be treated of presently. 

When you have thus written and recited half a dozen 
speeches, you will probably compose them with increased 
rapidity and manifest improvement in form and language. 

So soon as you/eeZ the thoughts flowing with ease, and 
shaping themselves into words without an effort, throw 
the pen aside and try to make a speech impromptu. 

Let your first trial of impromptu speaking be with one 
of the subjects which you have written upon and recited 
as a speech. Throw the paper aside, and try to shape a 
speech, not by repetition from the memory, but by inven- 
tion as you speak. Some memories are too powerful 
to permit of this ; they recall the very words that are 
written, and not the mere thoughts in their orderly 
array ; in such case it is only reading by the mental 
instead of the bodily eye, and the object of the practice 
would be lost. But when the memory is not so retentive, 
and recalls only the scheme of the composition, try to 
make an extempore speech on the same theme, treated in 
the same manner. Now, as ever, when }^ou utter your 
thoughts directly from the lips, mind addressing mind 
through no other medium than the voice, you nw use 
action, not studied, not even considered at the moment, 



214 The Art of Speaking — 

but such as you adopt unconsciously. How to utter a 
speech, and what action to use with it, will be subjects 
for special consideration hereafter. 

You will doubtless feel some mortification at the issue 
of this your first trial : it will be a failure ; your thoughts 
will be confused; the words will not. come, or come out 
of place ; you will hesitate, stumble, and possibly break 
down. Be not discouraged at this ; it is the fate of all 
beginners of good promise. Better so than glibly to 
pour out a stream of weak words not freighted with 
ideas. There is no more fatal sj^mptom than this sort 
of facility in a beginner. The limits of his success are 
soon found ; practice increases the rapidity and not the 
depth of the stream that flows from his lips. You have 
halted, and stumbled, and broken down, because you 
carried weight. You wanted to say something definite 
in language as definite. This is an art that does not 
come by nature, save perhaps to wonderful genius once 
in a century. Common minds must learn by experience 
to think clearly, to sustain continuous thought, to clothe 
those thoughts in words as speedily as the tongue can 
utter them, and then to express them in tones pleasing 
to those who hear. That is the accomplishment after 
which you are striving, and it can be attained only by 
perseverance and patience ; failure must precede success, 
and let it be your consolation that failure is the pathway 
to success. 

Fortunately, by the method of self-teaching that I 
have suggested, } T our discomfiture will be known only to 
yourself. Better to break down in a private room than 
in a public meeting. At least, the chairs will not jeer 
you ; shame will not be added to disappointment. Try 



First Lessons. 215 

again ; } r ou can afford ever so many failures in this arena. 
Briefly review the argument or plan of the speech, and 
then renew the effort. Mark wherein you fail ; if it is 
that you forget the order of the subjects, or if you cannot 
marshal your thoughts in orderly fashion, or if j^our 
words do not come readily, or in right array. If it be 
that the plan of the discourse fades away from your 
mind, you should assist the memory by making a very 
brief sketch of the successive subjects upon a slip of 
paper, — suggestions merely of two or three words, — 
and keep this before you, to assist you in a moment of 
distress, using it without scruple. Even the most prac- 
tised orators may resort to this help, and most of them 
do so. If the fault is in the flow of the words, there is 
no such remedy ; indeed, I can suggest none to you but 
practice. And so with the orderly array of words ; 
this, too, is partly a gift of nature, but to be vastly im- 
proved by cultivation ; and even where nature is defec- 
tive, labor and -long practice will cure the defect, as may 
be seen at the bar, where it is of continual occurrence 
that men, who at the beginning appeared to be almost 
wanting in words, and who were unable to put the sim- 
plest thought into the plainest language, by much prac- 
tice become correct and easy, if not positively fluent, 
speakers. 

I assume that you have something to say when I throw 
out these hints to you for learning to say it. If your 
mind is vacant of thought, it is in vain that you attempt 
to become an orator ; better abandon that ambition, and 
devote yourself to some mechanical pursuit for which 
nature has more fitted you. But be not in too great a 
hurry to arrive at the conclusion that your case is hope- 



2i6 The Art of Speaking — ■ 

less. The thoughts may be there, but lying in confusion, 
or not sufficiently definite ; or they may be slow to move, 
or difficult to marshal. All these are defects to be cured ; 
if only the thoughts are there in some shape, you can 
learn, with more or less of labor, to bring them into use. 
If, for instance, you find that with your pen you can 
express something sensible upon any theme, you may be 
assured that you can do the like with your tongue, and 
that the obstacle, wherever it is, may be removed by 
skill and diligence. Your case is only hopeless when, 
after many trials, you can find nothing to say, and, worse 
still, when words come freighted with nothing but sound 
and fury. 

If it be that the thoughts are there, but you cannot 
evoke them, the remedy is to write — write — write — 
until the mind falls into the habit of thinking definitely 
and orderly, and of yielding up its thoughts readily. 
The process is slow, but it is certain. You may not 
measure your progress week by week, but compare month 
by month, and you will discover the improvement. Try 
it b} r time. Note how many minutes are occupied in 
filling a page of your paper ; a month afterwards note 
them again, and so forth, and you will see what progress 
you have made. Compare the composition of this month 
with that of last month, and you will learn the steady 
advance in precision and power of expression. When 
you can write with tolerable fluency, begin again the 
attempt to speak. At first you may be baffled ; for such 
is the strange force of habit, that ideas which flow fast 
through the pen often refuse to come to the lips. But 
this is only a habit, and may be disturbed by the same 
repetition that formed it. Persist in the attempt to 



First Lessons. 217 

speak readily what you have written without difficulty. 
Begin by asking } r ourself this question: "What is it I 
want to say on this subject? What should I say were I 
to write it?" Answer the question aloud; not, in the 
first instance, standing up, but sitting down, in the very 
attitude in which you would have written, lacking only 
the pen and paper. Utter aloud, in any words that offer, 
the idea you have to express. Repeat it two or three 
times. Then stand up and repeat it again ; still not 
oratoricall} r , but as if you were telling a friend in ordi- 
nary conversation w T hat are your notions on the particu- 
lar topic. Then repeat it in more formal phraseology, 
and with some of the tones of a speech ; and, finally, try 
to make a speech of it. This is a tedious process, it is 
true ; but the defect to be conquered is formidable, and 
can only be cured by patient perseverance. 

All these first lessons in oratory are to be practised in 
private. They are designed as preliminary training to 
the public exercise, which is certainly more efficient, 
because there is about it the stimulus of reality ; but it 
produces also the nervousness that so often leads to 
failure, and you face the unpleasant consequences of 
failure itself where more persons will certainly be found 
to laugh at you than to pity you. These suggestions are 
not designed as a substitute for the ordeal of actual 
practice, but only to induce such preparation for practice 
as will make success more certain. If nothing more, it 
will save you from that ignominious failure, the fear of 
which has deterred hundreds who really possessed the 
capacities of an orator, and the experience of which has 
sent many a promising man back into obscurity, whence 
he has not found courage again to emerge, although there 



2i8 Public Speaking. 

was in him the material out of which success might have 
been achieved, had he taken proper pains to prepare for 
the trial. 



better XXXF. 

PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

You may now make your first attempt to speak in 
public. 

If possible, select the occasion. Do not trust your- 
self to say something about anything, — which usually 
amounts to saying nothing, — but avail yourself of the 
discussion of a subject to which you have given some 
thought, and on which you can say something. 

Turn the subject over in your mind ; think how you 
shall treat it ; from what point of view you may best 
approach it ; how you should arrange your ideas upon it, 
so that they may be presented in orderly array, linked 
into a chain of argument. 

Having planned it roughly in thought, put your plan 
upon paper. 

But only in outline. Do not provide the words ; note 
down nothing but the subjects to be treated, with the 
order of treatment. Trust entirely to the impulse of 
the moment to provide words wherein to express your 
thoughts ; but let those thoughts be firmly fixed in your 
memory. 

Some famous orators are accustomed, in addition to 



Public Sfeaking. 219 

this outline of the argument, to compose the peroration 
and recite it from memory. It is, however, a course of 
doubtful expediency at all times, and I would especially 
counsel you, as a beginner, not to resort to it. 

There are many objections to a written speech. In the 
first place you are dependent upon your memory, and if 
that should fail, your discomfiture is complete, — you 
break down altogether ! Few memories are so perfect as 
to preserve their power when the mind is otherwise dis- 
turbed. The fear of failure is very likely to be the cause 
of failure. A single word forgotten produces alarm and 
hesitation, and while you are trying to recall that word, 
others fade away, and in the accumulated confusion a 
whole sentence disappears. You hesitate, you stammer, 
you try back, — in the hopeless chaos you are lost. From 
this danger the speaker of a written speech is never safe ; 
it may occur at any moment, and the result is always 
humiliating. 

But there is another objection to written speeches,' — 
they can never be effective ; for this reason, that they are 
projected by a process altogether different from that of 
an extempore speech. TVliat 3-011 have first written, then 
committed to memory, and now proceed to deliver by the 
lips, you utter by a process that is little better than me- 
chanical. The memory is the only mental faculty engaged 
in the operation, and your whole attention is concentrated 
upon the work of recalling the words you have learned. 
This process within you is distinctly manifested to your 
audience ; it is betrayed in face, in tone, in gesture ; and 
your speech, wanting soul, fails to move soul. 

But when you speak from the prompting of your intel- 
lect, the whole mind is engaged in the operation ; you 



220 Public Speaking. 

say what you think, or feel, at the moment of utterance, 
and therefore you say it in the tones and with the expres- 
sion that nature prompts, without an effort on your part. 
It is a law of our being that mind is moved by mind. 
There is a secret s}^mpathy by which emotion answers 
to emotion, and your feelings stir the like feelings in your 
fellow-man. Bat no feigned emotions, however skilfully 
enacted, can accomplish this. You may greatly admire 
the skill of the performer and look upon him with admi- 
ration as an artist, but you do not feel with him. 

Again ; the language of a written speech is altogether 
different from extempore expression. The mind, when it 
discourses through the pen, throws itself, as it were, into 
a different attitude from that which it assumes when 
speaking through the lips. The structure of the sen- 
tences is different ; the words ar.e different ; there is a 
difference in the array of the thoughts. Written compo- 
sition is obedient to rules. There are certain conventional 
forms of expression, so unlike the language of speaking 
that they betray themselves instantly to a practised ear. 
Although an unskilled audience might not know the 
cause, the effect is shown in a sense of uneasiness, and 
we complain of stiffness - and dulness in the orator. 
Therefore, never write a speech, but only give it careful 
thought and set down the heads of it in the order in 
which you propose to treat them. 

Thus armed, and screwing up your courage for an 
ordeal whose severity I have no wish to underrate, go to 
the meeting at which you are to make the first real trial 
of your capabilities. To be forewarned is to be fore- 
armed, and therefore I will tell you what you will feel. 

If the audience be a large one, so much the better ; it 



Public Speaking. 221 

is easier to address a crowd than a small company. You 
are not scared by the multitude of eyes, but by the fixed 
gaze of a limited circle. The aspect of an assembly 
from a platform is very remarkable. Being raised so 
much above them, and all faces being turned up and eyes 
fixed on you, the consciousness of personality is lost; 
}'ou recognize nobody in particular, and the whole seems 
like one personage having as many eyes as a fly. No 
beginner ever looked on this sea of e}'es without more or 
less of fear, or when he looked at it saw anything but 
eyes. Try to make the scene familiar by an attentive 
survey of it while you are waiting your turn to speak, if 
that be possible when you are intently thinking what you 
will sa} T , and how you will say it. Anxious you will be, 
if there is anything in you ; some fear is inseparable 
from the modesty that accompanies genuine capacity ; 
but, in spite of anxiety and fear, let it be your resolve to 
go on, come what come may. 

At length your turn comes. As the time of trial ap- 
proaches, your heart will begin to flutter, then to thump 
audibly against your ribs, and there will be a curious 
creeping of the flesh, growing almost to a shiver, while 
your cheeks are burning and your head is throbbing. 
You stand up. Your knees tremble ; your hand shakes ; 
the sea of eyes swims before you and vanishes into a 
mist ; you are conscious of nothing but the lights. Sud- 
denly your tongue becomes dry, and, worse than all, your 
memory fails you, and you feel it to be failing. Be 
thankful now that you have not trusted 3^our speech to it. 
These symptoms have been experienced, more or less, by 
every man who has achieved the art of oratory ; and some 
I have known who never escaped from them entirely — 



222 Public Speaking. 

the trembling knees and parched tongue attending the 
first sentences uttered in all their speeches, however fre- 
quent. Few there are who succeed in avoiding them 
altogether. 

But go on. Say something, however dislocated or 
unmeaning ; anything is better than silence. A little 
hesitation at the beginning of a speech is never unbe- 
coming, and often is highly effective. One of the best 
and most practised speakers I ever listened to opened 
with stammering voice and imperfect sentences, and 
seemed continually on the point of breaking down ; but 
as he warmed in the work, words began to flow and self- 
possession to return, until he rose to eloquence that held 
his audience in delighted thraldom for three hours. In 
this, as in all the business of life, he who has not courage 
to fail may not hope to achieve success. Do not venture 
at all. unless you are resolved to go through with it. 
Even if you cannot collect yourself sufficiently to say the 
sensible things you intended to say, do not give it up, but 
talk on ; for 3 t ou may be assured of this, that half your 
audience will give you credit for having some meaning in 
your words, though they cannot exactly find it out, and 
if words come freely will think you a fine speaker, re- 
gardless of their sense or nonsense. There is but one 
hopeless failure, — coming to a full stop. But it is prob- 
able that, after you have conquered the first terror at the 
consciousness of lost memory and scattered thoughts, 
when you find your audience^ still patient and listening, 
your self-command will return, and you will make a trium- 
phant ending. 

Whatever the issue of that first trial, try again. Be 
not daunted even by failure. Practice will overcome all 



Public Speaking. 223 

difficulties. If you have planned a formal speech, the 
structure of it will be present to your mind ; if you throw 
yourself upon the inspiration of the moment, thoughts 
will arise as they are summoned, and where thoughts are, 
words will not be wanting. 

Do not, as many do, make preparation for your speeches 
on all occasions, great or little. There is a time for talk- 
ing, and a time for speaking, and a time for making a set 
oration. Choose your time and adapt yourself to the 
subject. Nothing is more indecorous than a flight of 
oratory out of place. The occasions that properly demand 
an oration rarely offer even to the most practised speaker. 
The larger portion of your speeches will be upon com- 
monplace themes or matters of business, when your 
address should be but lengthened talk. To do this well 
is as difficult and almost as rare as to make a great 
speech on a great topic. I purpose to describe this par- 
ticularly when I come to treat of the various forms of 
oratory. The subject at present under consideration is 
your general practice as a beginner, and how best you 
may perfect yourself in the art of speaking, without ref- 
erence to the special applications of it, which will be 
considered when we have reviewed the accomplishments 
you should labor to acquire. 



224 Delivery. 



Letter XXXVI. 

DELIVEBY. 

Acquire the art of saying something so as to be under- 
stood by your audience without much effort and without 
hesitation for words or thoughts, before you study how to. 
say it. In the due order of learning, manner should fol- 
low matter. If you attempt to learn both at the same 
time, you will probably fail in both. You will find it 
quite as much as you can do, at the beginning of your 
practice, to concentrate your mind upon the production 
of thoughts and words. If to this you add the labor of 
thinking how you should utter this sentence, and what 
action you should assume with that, you will be in danger 
of losing the thread of your discourse. Not until prac- 
tice has given you self-command and an orderly flow of 
ideas and ready words, should you make a study of 
manner. 

I say, " make a study " of it, because a great deal 
comes by nature. When you feel, and speak what you 
feel, there is a natural language of emotion that expresses 
itself unconsciously ; and, often most perfectly where 
there has been the least teaching. But, although this will 
help you to a certain extent, it will not do to rely upon it 
entirely, and for the reason that a very considerable por- 
tion of your oratory will be expended on subjects that do 
not excite the feelings, in which case }<our success will 
depend upon the form wherein you set commonplaces 
before your audience. Moreover, the orator, endowed 



Delivery. 225 

with the best natural graces may learn something from 
art, which is — or ought to be — the lesson of combined 
experience and reflection. My present purpose is to give 
you some hints for delivery of a speech, preparatory to 
the concluding letters on the characteristics of the various 
kinds of oratoiy. 

The first consideration is, to make yourself heard. 
This is no such eas} r matter as you may suppose. Go to 
any assembly where there is a diversity of speakers, and 
especially if among them there are many amateurs, and 
you will find that, standing at a distant part of the room, 
you can hear nothing but an inarticulate murmur. Even 
with those whose business it is to be speakers, as clergy- 
men and lawyers, this is a frequent failing. The orators 
and their friends set it to the account of weak lungs. 
That is a delusion. Such a physical defect may occur 
now and then ; but in nine cases in ten the lungs have 
nothing at all to do with it ; the fault is wholly in the 
management of the voice ; the notes are there, but the 
speaker will not open his mouth and send them out. 

You must begin by measuring the space you are to fill. 
To do this there is no need to count by rule, or to say to 
yourself, " Those people are so many yards from me ; I 
must raise my voice so much." There is no scale deter- 
mining that such a tone is good for so many feet, and 
such another for so many more. But there is something 
better than a rule to guide you. Nature teaches you. If 
you do not think about it, by a kind of instinct you pro- 
portion your voice to the distance from you of the per- 
son you address. If, therefore, you would be heard by 
the whole assembly, look at the most distant person, and 
address him. In obedience to this law of the voice, it 

15 



226 Delivery. 

will adapt itself to the distance, and, being heard by him, 
you must be heard by all. 

If, upon trial of this, you find that } r our voice still fails 
to be thrown so far, or that it requires a painful exertion 
on 3'our part, you may know that there is some defect in 
the management of your voice, and you should proceed to 
search for it, with resolve to remove it. 

First, assure yourself that you are not too loud. There 
is a degree of loudness that both stifles your own voice 
and deafens your audience. If the making of the sound 
is an effort, you may be sure that you are too loud. Re- 
member that you are seeking to convey to your audience 
articulate sounds, distinguished by the most delicate 
shades of sound, which disappear when the voice is raised 
beyond a certain pitch. The actors in the largest thea- 
tres do not speak loud , but they speak out, and they speak 
clearly, in a key slightly raised above that used in a room. 
This is your rule also. Speak up ; speak out. 

Open your mouth ; do not speak through your teeth, or 
your nose ; neither mutter, nor whine, nor snuffle. Take 
especial pains to shun these frequent faults, and invite 
some honest friend to tell you plainly if he can detect any 
traces of either in your manner. If so it be, strive ear- 
nestly to shake them off at the beginning, for they grow 
into incurable habits with formidable rapidity. Continue 
to consult your friend's ear until every trace of them shall 
be removed. 

There is much in the tone of a speaker's voice ; next to 
words it most influences an audience. The same thing 
said in two different tones will have entirely different ef- 
fects, and even conve}^ different meanings. Undoubtedly 
nature in this is more potent than art. Some voices are 



Delivery. 227 



naturally incompetent to express great variances of tone, 
although the failure is more frequently in the feeling thai) 
in the voice. The latter is not in the right tone because 
the former is not in the right place. It is difficult to pre- 
scribe any rules for acquiring tone, for it is not so much 
an art as an instinct. Tone is nature's language. The 
best advice I can give you is to cultivate it by cultivating 
the emotions by which it is attuned. Cherish fine sympa- 
thies with God, and nature, and humanity, with all that 
is hoty, and good, and beautiful, and the feelings so kin- 
dled will utter themselves in true tones, that will touch 
the kindred chords in those who listen to 3^011. 

For practice, read aloud passages of oratory, or in the 
drama, that embody stirring emotions ; thence you will 
learn confidence in yourself when 3-011 require to express 
the real and not the simulated feeling. 

Another rule is to raise 3'our voice at the end of every 
sentence, instead of dropping it, as is the unpleasant 
habit of our countiymen. I have already remarked upon 
this when treating of reading, but I must recur to it here, 
lest its application also to speaking should be overlooked. 
It is good for 3-ourself and for 3-our audience. It com- 
pels j ou to maintain an even range of voice, which, if 
declining at the close of a sentence, is apt to begin the 
next sentence somewhat lower than the preceding one, 
until the entire pitch of the voice declines, insensibly to 
yourself. The practice of raising the voice at the close 
of the sentence should therefore be cherished until it 
becomes a habit, and is performed without an effort and 
even without consciousness on your part. 

The natural defects of voice, as hoarseness, harshness, 
and squeaking, can scarcely be prescribed for by written 



228 Delivery. 

rules. They may be cured, though rarely ; they may in 
all cases be relieved by judicious teaching and patient 
effort. • But always a teacher should be sought. The 
sufferer is not likely to be conscious of his defect, and his 
own ear is too much accustomed to it to inform him if the 
remedy is prospering. Let him apply to some experi- 
enced teacher of elocution, who will put him through the 
course of training necessary to subdue the mischief, and 
who will listen as he speaks and lead him by slow steps 
to improvement. 

More important to clear speaking than even command 
of the voice is distinct articulation. You must study to 
pronounce, not words only, but syllables, and even letters. 
In the rapidity of talk, rightly used in conversation, we 
English habitually clip our words, slur our syllables, and 
skip our letters. The genius of our spoken language is 
for abbreviation ; we cut short every sound capable of 
condensation, and cast off every superfluous word. It is 
for this reason that written discourse is so different from 
spoken thought as to make it almost impossible so to 
write a speech, and afterwards to repeat it from memory, 
that a critical ear shall not discover the presence of the 
pen. The composition of a speech lies midway between 
the written essay and common talk. It is less formal 
than the one, but more orderly than the other. So, in the 
utterance of a speech, you should give its full expression 
to every sound, still avoiding the opposite faults of affec- 
tation and drawling. Beware that you do not run your 
words together ; strive that each syllable shall be fully 
breathed ; give to the letters, or rather to the conventional 
utterance of the words, the complete expression, having 
especial regard for your r's. The reason for this is, that 



Delivery. 229 

your audience must follow your thoughts as well as your 
words, and if you put them to so much as a momentary 
pause to seize the words, the process of translating them 
into thoughts cannot be performed in time to catch the 
next words that come from you. For the same reason it 
is necessary that you should speak deliberately. The 
most frequent fault of orators is speaking too rapidly ; 
their ideas flow faster than the tongue can express them, 
and in the eagerness to catch them before they are tripped 
up by successors, the organ of speech is urged to its ut- 
most speed, and the words come tumbling one over the 
other, to the bewilderment of the audience, who could tell 
you of your discourse only that the}' had heard a mass of 
things, but nothing clearly. 

For the study of articulation and deliberation in utter- 
ance I must remit you to the preceding hints for reading. 
The art may be best acquired, and evil habits that impede 
it best cured, by the practice of reading aloud, observing 
the precepts for good reading. 

But reading will not remedy too much rapidity when 
it is caused by crowding of thoughts. Book in baud, 
you receive the thoughts of the writer, and. having to 
deal with them alone, 3*011 may easily learn to reproduce 
them at any pace you please. Hence a too slow reader 
may be, and is often, a too fast speaker. A fault having 
such an origin can be cured only by attacking the 
cause. You must check the stream of thoughts, if you 
can. The problem is, how to do this. Having experience 
of the defect, I have given a great deal of consideration 
to devising a cure for it. I must own that I have been 
unsuccessful. Good resolutions have proved of no avail. 
During the process of speaking, the mind is so engrossed 



230 Delivery. 

by its one business of thinking, and clothing its thoughts 
in words, that rules, and resolves are forgotten, and it 
goes to work in its own way, according to its nature. 
But although unsuccessful in checking the current of 
ideas, something may be done to control them by a pre- 
arranged plan of treatment. If you will keep well before 
you the order of your topics, your thoughts will marshal 
themselves according to that scheme, and in this process 
will incur less danger of tripping up one another. This 
involuntary falling into rank is not to be acquired by any 
rules or teachings, but is learned by long practice teach- 
ing self-command, and encouraged by the resolve never 
to speak without a plan distinctly formed in your mind 
before you open your lips. 

Lastly, study variety of tone and of expression. There 
is nothing so dreary as monotony of voice. A bad 
speech delivered with various expression is infinitely more 
effective than a good speech spoken in one unbroken key 
and unvarying tone. Give to every sentence its appro- 
priate expression ; gravity to the grave, gayety to the 
gay. Raise your voice when you desire your audience to 
mark some passage ; sometimes lower your voice, es- 
pecially when you desire to express emotions. Your 
tones should be continually changing, like notes in 
music, to which indeed they are the equivalent in oratory, 
— onty let them be apt to the subject. This incessant 
play of the voice is the latest triumph of the orator. All 
beginners want the courage to follow even their own 
impulses ; their fear of failure keeps them from turning 
to the right or left out of the path that goes straight to 
the end. But, as experience gives confidence, and the 
dread of breaking clown departs, little by little, cautiously 



Action. 231 

at first, and afterwards more boldly, you will venture 
upon variations of expression that will be equally a relief 
to yourself and your audience. This is not an accom- 
plishment for which any rules can be suggested ; it is not 
to be taught by a master nor learned by rote ; it can be 
achieved only by practice, by the general cultivation of 
the taste and the intellect, and perfected only by 
experience. 



letter SXXUIJE, 

ACTION. 

Action — Action — Action ; this, according to the high 
authority of the greatest orator of whom history bears 
record, is the first, second, and third precept of oratory. 

To be plain with you, this is what in your college 
phrase you would term — bosh. It is just one of those 
sayings which men have taken upon trust, and repeated 
from generation to generation, without looking into it to 
see how much truth lies at the ^ottom of it. Action is 
something certainty, but it is not everything. There can 
be no effective oratory without it ; but it is not the sub- 
stance of oratory, nor even its principal ingredient. It 
is simply one of its ornaments, to be used with discretion. 
True it is that very stupid people may take a wind-bag 
in convulsions for an orator, thinking that a man so 
physically demonstrative must be uttering wonderful 
thoughts ; but all who can understand what is said look 



232 Action. 

for some sense, and are not satisfied with mere sound and 
fury ; the test of an orator is, if he can hold the ear and 
stir the heart, and not how he can make the eye stare and 
the mouth gape : a mountebank at a fair w r ould win still 
more than he of that kind of vulgar wonder. 

But action is nevertheless a necessary adjunct, — a grace 
to be sedulously cultivated ; a charm that adds immensely 
to the effect of speech. It attracts the attention of the 
hearer and even helps the flow of the speaker's thoughts. 
How this latter process is accomplished I cannot tell you, 
but every speaker will admit that so it is. The move- 
ment of the body stirs the mind ; indeed, the natural im- 
pulse is for the thought within to express itself on the 
outward frame, — that is, such thoughts as address them- 
selves to other minds ; and these should be the materials 
of all speeches. 

It seems a parodox to say that the fir^t step to action 
is to learn to stand still; but it is a truth, and there is no 
lesson so difficult to learn, — for self-command and confi- 
dence are essential to it. A great actor, to whom I am 
indebted for many valuable hints on this subject, told me 
that it was the last lesson learned on the stage ; that few, 
even of the most experienced in acting, know how to 
stand still, and we migfct measure an actor's accomplish- 
ment by observing if he stands still, with natural ease 
and in a natural attitude, when he has nothing to do. It 
is precisely so with speakers. They cannot stand still. 
Manifestly they know not what to do with their arms and 
their feet, and look as if they had no other thought than 
how to pose them ; they fidget them here and there ; shift 
from one awkwardness to another ; thrust the hands into 
the waistcoat, or under the coat-tails, or into the pockets, 



Action. 233 

and try with the feet all positions unknown to the drill- 
sergeant. The only attitude they do not assume is — no 
attitude at all, but the natural grace of the human figure 
in repose — the feet in the " stand at ease" position of 
our drill, and the arms hanging down at the sides, just as 
they descend by their own weight. " This is the whole 
art of standing still," said my instructor; and, having 
tried it myself, and closely observed it in others, I can 
echo his instructions, and cordially commend them to you. 

When you stand still your attitude must be one of 
relaxation, or you will have the aspect of a cataleptic stiff- 
ened into a statue, not of one willingly at rest. Carefully 
avoid the starched and strained posture of " attention " 
in the ranks, where every limb betra}'s effort. The pose 
of standing still is the relaxation of every muscle. You 
must feel at ease, look at ease ; the body upright, but 
firmly set, the arms lying at your side in their natural 
fall, the head slightly elevated and thrown back, and the 
chest expanded. I am thus minute, because this is the 
" first position " in the art of oratory, and having learned 
it jou will more readily advance from stillness to action* 
To be still seems easy enough when described in words, 
but you will find it somewhat difficult to attain in prac- 
tice. It is, however, worth some effort to acquire. Not 
that you will often have need to adopt it upon the platform, 
but it is the foundation of effective action. If 3 T ou can 
stand still becomingly, you will be almost sure to move 
gracefully. 

Moreover, this is the pose that gives you the freest use 
of your voice. The chest cannot play freely unless the 
body is upright and the shoulders are thrown back ; on 
the play of the chest depends the power of the lungs alikQ 



234 Action. 

to express and to endure. So the elevated head is neces- 
sary to the resonance as well as to the delicate shades of 
sound made by that marvellous instrument through which 
the infinite variations of thought find their appropriate ex- 
pression. In action these positions must be preserved ; 
the change is mainly in the play of the arms and the turn 
of the head. If 3 r ou accustom yourself from the begin- 
ning to keep an open chest and a free throat, you will 
have made a mighty stride towards success. But to 
master these you must master the first position in action, 
— standing still. 

Begin quietly. • Your action should rise with your 
emotions, and these should swell as you warm with your 
theme. If you commence with much action, you must 
either fail to appear as growing in energy at the right 
place, or you will be compelled to extravagant action, 
with imminent risk of lapsing into the ludicrous. The 
favorite parliamentaiy position of the arms crossed upon 
the chest is a good one for the opening of a speech, for 
it expresses confidence, and therefore creates confidence. 
But merely to stand still is not unfitted for the start, and 
it has an aspect of deference for the audience that be- 
speaks their favor. This is, however, a matter of choice, 
in which you should consult your own ease. From this 
position you may depart with the first sentence } r ou 
desire to emphasize, and especially at the close of it, by 
slowly extending the arms and with the same equable 
motion restoring them to their first position. Presently 
(observing still the rule that action should be used only 
in aid of the voice where special expression is sought to 
be given to what you say) you should throw your arms 
apart, using them with increasing frequenc3 r , but remem- 



Action. 235 

beriiig that the use of both arms at the same time indi- 
cates the extremes! energy, and therefore you should lift 
but one for the less emphatic sentences. 

But how to use them? That is the difficulty. I have 
endeavored to reduce to words some definite hints for 
that purpose, and I have been unable to do so to my own 
satisfaction. I fear that this portion of the art cannot be 
taught by written lessons, but only by instructions con- 
veyed through the eye. I cannot tell you what your 
action ought to be. I can only offer to you a few hints by 
way of warning what to avoid in action. 

Shun uniformity. Some speakers merely wave the 
hand up and down, or to and fro, in one even and 
measured sweep, as if they were beating time to music. 
Pray you avoid it. Do not saw the aii\ as Hamlet terms 
it. Do not stick your thumbs in your waistcoat, nor 
thrust your hands under the tail of your coat, nor twirl a 
thread, nor play with a pen. Of these inelegancies there 
are eminent examples among the foremost orators of this 
generation. An impressive, because expressive, action, 
if used at a fit place, is a thump with the hand upon the 
table, or of one hand against the other, when you want to 
give extraordinary emphasis to some word or point in the 
sentence. There is a natural language of the limbs as 
well as of the voice, and if you observe that you will not 
err. The difficulty, you will say, is to remember the 
rule when your thoughts are busily engaged in construct- 
ing your speech, and you cannot at once think of what 
you shall say and how 3*011 shall say it. Happily for 
you, this natural action is instinctive. It follows the 
feelings and accompanies the words. You have nothing 
to do but to give it free play, by removing all ungainly 



236 Action. 

habits, all artificial action, whatever affectations you may 
have been taught by ignorant and pedantic masters, and 
having put yourself in the best position for the muscles to 
act, you may leave the manner of their action to the 
impulses of nature. 

You will ask why it is, if nature prompts the right 
action, so few orators are found to practise it. My 
answer is, that they have not trusted to nature. Either 
they have sought to make an art of action and learn it 
by rules ; or, they do not feel what they say, but are 
speaking by rote ; or, they have fallen into bad habits 
at the beginning, before they were sufficiently confident 
to let nature speak her own language ; or, they are still 
so wanting in self-command that, as it is with beginners, 
fear impedes the free motions that nature prompts. 

I might address to you an entire letter upon this 
natural language of the limbs, describing how the various 
motions naturally express themselves in attitude as in 
voice ; but it would be of no practical service to you. If 
I were to tell you that, in denunciation of a wrong, the 
arms are naturally thrown into this or that position, you 
.would not be much the wiser. You could not learn to 
assume a posture by a preconcerted plan, and the impulse 
would not arise one whit the more rapidly, nor more 
certainly shape itself into action, because you know be- 
forehand that so it ought to be. Therefore, I conclude 
these hints for action by repeating, that you must banish 
all acquired action, shake off all awkwardness and irregu- 
larities of movement, study gracefulness in the motion 
of the limbs, and especially of the arms, resolutely learn 
to stand still, and then trust to nature to prompt the 
action suited to the word and the thought. 



The Construction of a Speech. 237 
letter IHUOL 

TEE CONSTRUCTION OF A SPEECH. 

A speech is a work of art, to be constructed in accord- 
ance with certain laws of taste, — aesthetically (if you 
like the word better than our old-fashioned English one) , 
— haying a definite design and shape, and forming a 
whole made up of distinct parts, which } T ou, when deliv- 
ering, can contemplate as a whole, and which may be 
comprehended and remembered as a w T hole by your 
audience. 

In this I refer only to a speech, properly so-called, — a 
set oration on a subject reflected upon and matured 
beforehand ; for otherwise it is with remarks thrown out 
in the course of a debate, — interpellations, as the French 
term them, — matters of business, which are nothing more 
than standing-up talk ; and replies, which differ from 
either. In the hints I am about to offer to you for the 
construction of a speech, I refer to a formal speech, to 
which I do not give the title of oration only because that 
has come to be read as a very big word, the use of which 
would be looked upon as boastful, and therefore I prefer 
to call it by the more modest name of " a speech ; " but 
I mean " an oration" nevertheless. 

It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. 

The beginning is the most difficult. You are led up to 
the after parts of your discourse, but you must begin by 
leading up to the main subject. It will not do to plunge 
abruptly into it; there should be always an opening, 



238 The Construction of a Speech. 

designed to attract the attention of the audience and 
excite their interest in what you are about to say. Be 
not argumentative at the beginning, or you will certainly 
repel the sympathies of a considerable majority of the 
assembly, who are in truth incapable of following the 
steps of an argument, or of understanding it when it is 
completed. If the subject permits, begin lightly, almost 
playfully ; assume, both in language and manner, a great 
deal of deference for your audience, even if you do not 
feel it ; your present business is to win their favor, so 
to secure a patient hearing, and there is nothing so effect- 
ive as the silent flattery that assures the good people 
before you that you court the approval of their judgments. 
Talk about the subject, but do not treat of it. Show what 
interest it has for them, and how profoundly it affects 
you, — insomuch that you are urged to speak upon it by 
the impulses of conviction and feeling ; that it fills your 
mind to overflow, so that } t ou cannot help pouring it into 
their ears and striving to enlist their sympathies. 

Having thus cleared the way, you enter upon the sub- 
ject itself, and your manner of treating it will vary with 
every variety of topic, so that it is impossible to suggest 
any form of treatment applicable to all. Here, again, I 
can do little more than attempt to throw together a few 
practical hints what to do and what to avoid, leaving 
the substantial structure of the work to your own good 
taste. 

You must have an argument, and yet }'OU must not 
appear to argue. The order of your thoughts must be 
logical, but you must shun the shape of logic. Your 
aim is to convince and to persuade ; but conviction is 
not produced by close reasoning. It is the result of a 



The Construction of a Speech. 239 

pleasant mixture of facts and broadly-drawn deductions 
from them, which carry the listener's mind to your end, 
without consciousness on his part of the particular steps 
by which you have done so. In your own mind you 
must have a distinct conception of the chain of reasoning 
by which } t ou propose to travel to the conclusion ; but 
your art will be shown in concealing this from the 
audience. The result is accomplished by a judicious 
mingling of narrative with argument, gayety with grav- 
ity, humor with poetry, familiar talk with occasional 
flashes of eloquence. Variety is the soul of a speech, and 
is, above all things, to be studied, — the skill of the great 
orator being shown in the direction of every phase of his 
discourse, however apparently divergent to the proposi- 
tion he is maintaining. Remember that nothing is so 
wearisome as monotony. We tire of too much eloquence, 
and a speech of brilliant sentences would be intolerable. 
Too many passages of the finest poetry pall the ear. 
You cannot be kept constantly grinning ; and how glad 
everybody is to escape from solemnity is shown b} T the 
wretched jokes that suffice to throw a court of justice 
into roars of laughter. In a speech there is nothing 
more useful than interspersion of anecdote. Narrate 
some facts. There are many people in all companies who 
can understand nothing else. The}' can see little in 
an argument ; but they can appreciate a fact. It so 
happened to somebody somewhere, after he had done 
something. That settles the question in such minds ; 
and they are not a few. You win at least half } T our 
audience by a striking anecdote, perhaps utterly worth- 
less as evidence to a reasoning mind ; but it amuses and 
relieves the strained thoughts of even your more reflect- 



240 The Construction of a Speech. 

ing listeners. When occasion permits, throw in a little 
eloquence, but not too long nor too frequently. There is 
nothing in the art of speaking more difficult to manage 
than this. A flowery discourse is offensive to good taste ; 
bat a dash of poetry may be permitted when you appeal 
to the feelings. In narrative, also, it is sometimes desir- 
able to embellish description with pictorial language, 
and you may clothe sentiments in ornamental phrases. 
Sut these flights should never be long continued, and 
they should appear as accidents only, not as the substance 
of your discourse. The mention of pictorial language 
reminds me that a speech should be interspersed with 
pictures. You are aware that every human being, not 
an idiot, is competent to conceive a picture, while few 
are capable of comprehending an abstract idea, and 
fewer still of following out a closely-linked chain of argu- 
ment. You may see this shown in a striking manner by 
children, who will listen intently to stories that paint 
pictures upon their minds, and receive repetitions of the 
same story, however frequent, with even more than the 
interest felt in it at the first telling. A considerable 
portion of the grown-up people are only " children of 
larger growth," and retain- the childish love of pictorial 
narrative. You must submit to gratify this taste if you 
would please a miscellaneous audience. Tell them some- 
thing in the way of a story, — something you or some 
other persons have seen or done, — painting with your 
words upon their minds a picture of the scene you are 
describing. Do not be afraid of staleness or repetition. 
It is wonderful how often audiences will laugh at the same 
jest, and listen with interest to the same story. Thus with 
a mixture of argument, narrative, poetry, eloquence, jest, 



The Construction of a Speech. 241 

and earnestness, you will compound the middle, or sub- 
stance of a speech. 

Having said all that you have to say, or, at least, as 
much as you ought to say, you come to the peroration, 
which, in a set speech, should be a finale with a flourish 
of trumpets. It is permissible and safe to write this part 
of an oration, and confide it to the memory ; for it is too 
difficult a composition to be entrusted wholly to the 
impulse of the moment. If a formal peroration is 
attempted, it must be excellent, or it will be worse than 
useless. It is an ambitious effort, and to fail in it is to 
expose yourself to merciless ridicule. The most brilliant 
speech would be marred by an ending that left your 
audience laughing at you. Therefore, think well before 
you adopt a peroration ; for it is not necessary to a 
speech, though very desirable, because highly effective ; 
but, having resolved upon it, spare no pains to perfect it. 
Write and re-write until it approves itself to j'our 
taste, and recite it aloud, to try how it comes to 
your tongue and sounds in your ears ; for you will 
find that sentences, seeming excellent when mentally 
read, are often very ineffective when actually expressed 
by the lips. 

The peroration should not be the summing-up of your 
argument, but rather the pointing of it to its purpose, — 
the moral of what you have been saying commended to 
the regards of your audience. Your speech had been 
addressed to convince and persuade by many arguments 
and illustrations, — the peroration should be the concen- 
trated sum of all you have sought to urge, clad in glow- 
ing colors, appealing to the moral sentiments, the human 
feelings, and even, where the occasion permits, to the 
16 



242 The Construction of a Speech. ■ 

passions, of your hearers. Its object is to excite them 
to acceptance of your argument, by exalting their con- 
ceptions of the importance of your theme, or to move 
them to action in accordance with the purposes for which 
you are addressing them. Whatever you say should 
have one of these definite designs. Merely fine words 
are merely impertinences. 

Then, a peroration should grow in power and bril- 
liancy as it advances, until it culminates in a climax. 
Having once soared in it, you must not sink again to the 
level of plain prose, but maintain the stream of poetry or 
passion, with a gradual swell, if you can, but evenly at 
the least, reserving j^our most striking thought and power- 
ful language for the conclusion, as your last words will 
be likely to live longest in the memory. 

In this, as in all the parts of a speech, employ the 
simplest language. Not only is it usually the grandest, 
but, being intelligible to all, it best attains your purpose 
with all, and wins many supporters who would have been 
insensible to the language of scholarship. There is no 
emotion that cannot be more forcibly expressed, no 
narrative that cannot be more vividly painted, in our 
Saxon vernacular, than in the best classical dialect of the 
library. Avoid, also, long and involved sentences. 
They, are perplexing to a reader ; but to a listener they 
are unintelligible. The speech that is most effective with 
an audience is that spoken in short sentences ; con- 
structed in the form of uttered, not in that of written 
thoughts, — each sentence complete in itself and contain- 
ing a single proposition. 

A formal peroration is not necessary even to a formal 
oration, although it is so great an ornament that, if you 



The Construction of a Speech. 243 

have time to prepare it, you should on no account omit 
to do so. But better far to have none than an imperfect 
one. Do it thoroughly or not at all, and; I repeat, do 
not trust it to the impulse of the moment. If you have 
not come prepared with it, dispense with it altogether, 
and avoid anything like a pretence of it in speeches that 
are not orations, but the utterance of the thoughts of the 
moment on a subject suddenly presented. 

For such cases you must acquire another art, much 
more difficult than you would think it to be, — the art of 
sitting down. 

How few speakers have mastered this ! How few 
know n'lien to stop, or how to stop ! How often do we 
see those who have spoken well mar the effect of all thai 
has gone before by an unhappy ending ! They wind up 
feebly, or, which is worse, the}' do not wind up at all. 
The}' appear to be coming to a close, but, just when we 
expect them to sit clown, they start off again upon some 
new path, and wander about drearily, perhaps repeat this 
process many times, to the sore trial of the patience of 
the audience, and withal are further than ever from the 
end they seek. Strive to avoid such a calamity. Better 
any defect at the close than a protracted ending. If 
you have not got up a formal climax, content yourself 
with stopping when you have said what you have to say, 
even although it may not be with the flourish you desire. 
If you do not win a burst of applause, you will give no 
offence. You will obtain credit for good sense, at least, 
if not for eloquence ; and certainly the former is the more 
useful faculty for the vast majority of purposes for which 
the art of speaking is required to be exercised in 
the business of life. Even with professional orators, 



244 The Oratory of the Pulpit. 

such as statesmen and lawyers, for once that a forma] 
oration is demanded, a sensible speech is required twenty 
times. 



better XXXZX. 

THE OB AT OB Y OF THE PULPIT 

Having described to you the general form of a speech, 
how it should be spoken, and what faults you should en- 
deavor to avoid in framing and speaking it, I turn now 
to the special features of special kinds of oratory ; for 
each one has characteristics of its own which demand the 
special study of those who will be required to practise it, 
in addition to the studies of oratory as an art, to which I 
have endeavored, in the preceding letters, to direct your 
attention. 

The principal forms of oratory, whose special charac- 
teristics I propose to describe, are the oratory of thepi^- 
pit, of the bar j of the senate, of the platform, and of the 
table. 

The pulpit orator differs from all other orators in this, 
that he is not open to answer, and therefore has it all 
his own way, and that he speaks, not merely as a man 
offering his own opinions to other men, but as one 
who bears a message from a higher authorit}" than his 
own. 

Moreover he may assume that his congregation are in 
substantial agreement with him, or they would not be 
gathered there ; consequently he has no need to prove 



The Oratory of the Pulfiit. 245 

his title to them. He is before them of his own right, 
they acknowledge his mission to be their teacher, they must 
hear him out, or, at least, sit him out ; neither dissent 
nor disapprobation can be expressed ; the most transpar- 
ent fallacies will pass unchallenged ; the feeblest argu- 
ments provoke no reply. 

At the first survey of this unique position, nothing 
would seem to be more favorable for oratory. More 
than that, the subjects of which the preacher treats are of 
the mightiest moment to all his hearers ; the highest and 
the humblest have an equal interest in the world against 
whose temptations he warns, and in the heaven to whose 
joys he invites. There is not a human weakness nor vir- 
tue, not a passion nor a sentiment, that does not come 
legitimately within the sphere of his discourse ; whatever 
is nearest and dearest to us, whatever we most desire or 
most dread, all that is known and all that is unknown, 
the busy present and the great dark future, are his to 
wield at his will, for winning, for deterring, for attracting, 
or for terrifying. He can persuade, or excite, or awe his 
hearers at his pleasure ; his theme prompts to poetry ; he 
may resort to all wonders of nature and art for illustra- 
tions, and, if he comprehends the grandeur of his mission, 
he has the stimulus of consciousness that, with God's bless- 
ing, the words he utters will save souls. 

But, these advantages notwithstanding, good pulpit 
oratory is more rare than airy other. Probably fifty 
thousand sermons are preached in the United Kingdom 
every Sunday, but of these how many fulfil the require- 
ments of the art of speaking? How many really fine 
sermons, finely delivered, has the oldest of us heard in 
the course of his life, even if he has been a regular 



246 The Oratory of the Pulpit. 

church-goer? He might almost count them on his fingers. 
Certainly, if the preachers be enumerated, and not the ser- 
mons, they would not number ten. I can say, for my 
own part, that having sought for them I have been unable 
to find them. It is not too much to assert that forty-nine 
out of fifty were prosy, inartistic, unattractive to mind or 
ear, drawling and slumberous, droning out dreary plati- 
tudes in dullest language, unenlivened by a flash of elo- 
quence or a spark of poetry. To listen to them is an 
effort ; and the result of the effort is pain, — pain to the 
intellect, which is unrewarded ; pain to the taste, which 
is offended ; pain to the ear, which is wearied. Added 
to these is a certain sense of annoyance at a noble oppor- 
tunity lost, and the involuntary comparison of what 
that discourse might and should have been with what it 
is. 

Why pulpit oratory is so feeble, and its power so 
stricken, is a question of great interest, well deserving a 
more extended inquiry than it has yet received ; but it 
does not come within the province of these letters. The 
fact suffices, that the branch of oratory which ought to be 
at the summit of the art, and to exhibit more and greater 
orators than any other, in practice falls below the rest, 
and produces fewer claimants to the title. At present 
my purpose is to describe, briefly, the special features of 
the art of oratory in the pulpit. 

I have hinted above that the business of the preacher 
is much more to persuade than to convince. As a rule, 
his audience are already believers of the same creed with 
himself. They are his congregation because his belief is 
presumed to be identical with theirs. He has no need, 
therefore, to plunge into arguments directed to show that 



The Oratory of the Pulpit. 247 

some persons there present are wrong, and to convince 
them that he is right. It is the specialty of the pulpit 
orator's discourse that he is exempted from the necessity, 
imposed upon all other orators, of addressing himself to 
those who differ from him, more or less, and of seeking 
to convince them by argument, with that liability to in- 
stant attack and defeat, which is the safest restraint 
against feebleness and fallac}^. Consequently, as the rule, 
subject, of course, to rare exceptions, the business of pul- 
pit oratory is persuasion. 

To convince, you address the reason; to persuade, you 
appeal to the emotions. In the one case, you call upon 
your audience to reflect and pronounce a calm impartial 
judgment ; in the other, you desire that they should not 
think, but feel, surrendering their judgments to you. 
The preacher's title to do this is founded upon the tacit 
assumption that his audience and himself hold substan- 
tially the same creed, and that it is his vocation to excite 
in them a sense of its grandeur and importance, and to 
stir them to thought and action in accordance with its 
precepts. To these the preacher adds the power of awe, 
as bearing a message from above, and he appeals to the 
emotions of veneration and of fear. 

Such being the mission of the preacher, the first 
question is, in what manner, it should be performed ; and 
it is manifest that, foremost of his acccomplishments 
should be the faculty of moving — nay, of compelling 
even — his congregation to hearken to him. Let his dis- 
course be ever so excellent, it will be wasted on the air 
unless he can keep the attention of his audience awake, 
and their minds, as well as their ears, wide open to 
receive it. Hence the first step towards pulpit oratory 



248 The Oratory of the Pulpit. 

is a good delivery. Such is the charm of this that, as 
very little experience will satisfy you, a bad sermon well 
delivered is really more effective than a good sermon 
badly delivered. 

The rules for good delivery of a sermon are very nearly 
those already suggested for the right delivery of a speech. 
If it be read, it should be so read as to bear the slightest 
possible resemblance to reading ; the eye should not be 
fixed steadily on the page, but continually look round 
upon the audience, as if each individual in the crowd 
were separately addressed. The eye, as you know, is 
always in advance of the voice, so as to render this 
diversion by no means difficult after a little practice, and 
it is facilitated much by keeping the left hand upon the 
page, with the finger pointing to the line, that the return- 
ing glance may alight instantly at the place where the 
sentence is to be regained. So by looking to the most 
distant part of the church the voice is unconsciously 
raised to the pitch necessary for filling the building, its 
success in this being at once indicated to the speaker by 
the echo of it, — its failure by the dying away of the sound 
by degrees before it reaches its destination. Then the 
tones of the voice must be changed continually, according 
to the character of the theme : now exultant, now sad ; 
now commanding, now imploring ; now deep in denuncia- 
tion, now rich in loving kindness ; imploring now, and 
now stern in warning. Above all things, a preacher 
should shun monotony, especially those dreariest forms 
of it, the pulpit drawl, the pulpit whine, the pulpit groan, 
and the pulpit snivel. 

The preacher should not stand like a talking automaton, 
Action is a necessary part of all oratory, only it should 



The Oratory of the Pulpit. 249 

be appropriate to the place and the theme. The tub, in 
which it is the fashion of the Christian world to confine 
their preachers, is certainly not favorable to action. It 
is difficult to be, or to appear, graceful of movement in 
such a position ; but the orator is not therefore to eschew 
action altogether. The eyes aid materially in riveting 
attention to the voice, as you will discover in a moment 
by trying to listen to a speaker whom you cannot see, 
and we like to witness upon the face and in the manner 
of those who address to us earnest words some evidence 
that they are as earnest as their language. Action is the 
natural expression of emotion, and the absence of it 
conveys the impression of want of earnestness in the 
speaker, that he does not feel what he is saying. If once 
that impression clouds the mind, there is an instant 
collapse of its own emotions. The action of the preacher 
is limited, of course. But he should turn continually 
from one part of his audience to another ; extend and 
wave and raise one arm, or both, according to the energy 
of his words, and fitly for their meaning ; occasional 
bending of the head, and extending of the body over the 
pulpit in entreaty, or drawing it up to its full height in 
denunciation or warning, afford varieties of movement 
which, judiciously employed, are highly effective. . 

Such are a few brief hints for the manner in which a 
pulpit discourse should be delivered. I add some,. equally 
brief, as to the matter. 

A " text" is a custom too firmly established among us 
for the preacher to venture to dispense with it, although 
the modern sermon differs widely from the commentary 
that first introduced the practice of text-giving. But, if 
it is to be observed, now that the sermon is a discourse 



250 The Oratory of the Pulfiit. 

and not an exposition, the text should be chosen with 
some regard to fitness. A striking text attracts the 
attention of the audience at the beginning, a good text 
. assists his memory at the end, of the discourse ; and, for 
objects so important as these, quaintness, and even 
conceits, may be excused, though they are not to be 
cultivated. The sermon itself should, like a speech, have 
a plan ; the scheme of it should be capable of being 
sketched in a few lines, and the various parts should 
grow out of, and be proportioned to, one another, so as 
to make a harmonious wiiole. Unity is a great charm in 
all works of art ; and a good sermon is a work of art, — an 
exercise of the taste as well as of the intellect. Before a 
line is written, the entire of the plan should be set upon 
paper, and closely observed in the composition of the 
work. But the various divisions should not be exhibited 
to the audience by numbers, as is the custom with some 
preachers ; it is unwise to alarm by a vista of possible 
tediousness, wearisome to contemplate. They should not 
be told that the subject will be divided into five heads, 
and each head into four parts, and such like. Let these 
appear, as you proceed, to grow naturally and properly 
out of the theme, and there will be no danger of tedious- 
ness, nor a dread of anticipated boredom. The discourse 
should have a definite aim, — to maintain a proposition, to 
exhort to some clut}' , to warn against some sin. It should 
not be a vague declamation about religious matters in 
general, of which only a dim recollection can remain in 
the minds of the congregation, but a definite purpose, that 
might be distinctly comprehended and carried away to 
suggest meditation thereafter. The preacher should study 
variety by drawing largely for illustrations from nature, 



The Oratory of the Pulpit. 251 

from art, from books ; he should call to his aid the works 
of God and of man — the utterances of inspiration, and 
the inspirations of genius — to enforce his appeals. 
Nothing is foreign to the true pulpit orator ; he may do 
airything but descend; he must not play the buffoon ; he 
must not jest; he should not even provoke a smile, for 
this would be out of keeping with the place and the busi- 
ness of the assenibty. It is permitted to him to be more 
flowery and poetical than other orators, but it is possible 
for him to err in excess of this species of ornament. His 
own good taste must guide him in that, for it is impossi- 
ble to define the boundary by any rules. The conclusion 
should be a burst of eloquence, uttered with energy, and 
growing to a climax at the end, sending the hearers away 
excited and pleased. If the discourse has wandered 
somewhat in its progress, its close should be in strict 
accordance with its commencement, and concentrate in a 
few burning words the substance of the theme, bringing 
back the thoughts of the hearers to the point whence they 
had started. 

The language of a sermon addressed to a miscellaneous 
audience should be distinguished for simplicity. The 
preacher should adhere as closely as possible to the ver- 
nacular. Far better that he should be too homel} T than 
too fine. Educated and uneducated can alike understand 
his Saxon words ; the educated alone can understand his 
classical words. Even if he were compelled to choose 
between them, he should prefer to address himself to the 
poor, who cannot learn their duty from books, rather than 
to the educated, who can read better sermons than they 
are likely to hear. 



252 The Oratory of the Senate. 

ILetter £&♦ 

THE OB AT OB Y OF THE SENATE. 

This part of my subject, like the oratory of the pulpit, 
I will treat of briefly, although, to do it justice, several 
letters would be required. For the present, at least, it 
has but a secondary interest for you. I hope the time 
may come when it will require from you a profounder 
study. 

The oratory of the senate may be parcelled into four 
distinct clas.ses. A further subdivision might be sug- 
gested, and in a more elaborate treatise would be desir- 
able ; but four will suffice for our present purpose. 

The first is the colloquial style ; the second, the busi- 
ness style; the third, the oration; the fourth, the reply. 
This classificatiou is derived from a review of the various 
objects sought by speakers in the senate. In practice, 
few are equally successful in all ; some excel in one or 
more and fail in the others ; but your ambition should be, 
and your study should be directed, to do all well. 

It is not commonly so thought, but there is a great 
deal to learn for mastering even the least of these accom- 
plishments. Many zealous members of Parliament, 
ambitious for fame, have set themselves to the assiduous 
study of the art of oratory ; but, by neglecting the 
apparently insignificant exercises of it, have failed to win 
the prize for which they have striven. They have toiled 
hard to learn how to compose a speech, and how to speak 



The Oratory of the Senate. 253 

it, and have neglected the less showy art of talking on a 
matter of business in a business-like way. Inasmuch as 
this latter is required fifty times for once that an oppor- 
tunity offers for an oration, they break down at the 
beginning of their careers, and acquire an ill repute as 
bores, which not even a good speech will afterwards suf- 
fice to remove. 

By far the greater part of a senator's work is mere talk, 
conducted amid a Babel of tongues, and listened to by no 
ears but those of the reporters. This will appear to be 
extremely easy, until you try it. Then you will find that 
to stand up and just say what you have to say in the few- 
est words, and sit down when you have said it, is about 
the most difficult performance of a speaker. When 3'ou 
have trained yourself to do that w r ell, you will have ad- 
vanced far towards becoming an orator. Therefore to 
this you should sedulously direct your first endeavors. 

The art of doing this is to do it without art. The com- 
mon fault is an attempt to do it too well ; picking words 
and turning sentences where these are not required, and 
indeed are out of place. The best rule for your guidance 
appears to me to be this : — forget that you are on your 
legs ; suppose that you are sitting dow^n and desire to 
make a communication to your neighbor on the other side 
of the table. As you would address him, so you should 
address " the house," in those conversational dialogues 
that necessarily occupy so much of its time, and in which 
the greater portion of ita actual business is transacted. 
You would not talk across the dinner-table in phrases or 
informal sentences, — that would be discoursing not talk- 
ing ; and what can be more disagreeable ? Neither should 
you talk so in the House when it is in conversation. The 



254 The Oratory of the Senate. 

best practice for educating yourself to this is to act the! 
part in your study at home, — sitting first, then standing, 
until you have schooled yourself not to change your man- 
ner with your position. If you still find the propensity 
adhering to you in your place in Parliament, do not be 
disheartened, but persevere ; you will conquer at last, and 
you will know when you have conquered, by the wonder- 
ful ease of which you will be conscious as soon as }^ou 
have learned to substitute sensible talking for misplaced 
speech-making. 

The business speech is the next in frequency of demand. 
Its name describes generally its character. There is some 
work to be done, and the shortest way to the doing of 
it is the best. The British Parliament is essentially 
and substantially a place of business ; the show days, 
the party fights, the speech-makings, are exceptional. An 
oration upon a matter of business, however eloquent, 
would be properly deemed an impertinence, and perhaps 
the offender would be summarily put down by those who 
have come there for work and will not have their precious 
time wasted by abstractions. It is in committee that the 
business speech is most in requisition and most esteemed, 
and the reputation of a young member in the House will 
depend upon the success with which he performs this part 
of his senatorial duties. 

The style of the business speech will be gathered from 
this statement of its objects. It should be a clear, 
straightforward, unadorned statement of facts. and argu- 
ments. The purpose is not to excite passion or awaken 
sympathy, to command or to persuade, but to convince 
the sober judgment. Hence fine words, polished senten- 
ces, and flights of eloquence are inadmissible. The words 



The Oratory of the Senate. 255 

should not be wasted in formal introductions, but go at 
once to the point. Sedulously avoid committing to paper 

a single sentence you purpose to say. Arm yourself well 
with the facts and figures; have clearly in your mind the 
argument by which you apply them to i; the question, " 
and trust to your mother wit to express them in the fittest 
language, — the fittest being not the best, but that which is 
most likely to be understood readily by your audience ; 
and such are the words that come to us spontaneously 
whensoever we really have something to say. 

But although you should on no account write even a 
sentence of a business speech, if you are about to 
cite figures, you should come well armed with them upon 
paper. Do not trust your memory with these, for it 
may prove treacherous at any moment, and throw you 
into utter confusion. Some small skill is required in so 
arraying figures that their results may be readily intelli- 
gible to your audience. Hence the necessity for the exer- 
cise of much forethought in the marshalling of your facts. 
This is study-work ; it must be performed upon paper, 
with due deliberation, arranged and rearranged, until all 
is cast into the most convincing form. 

A few words here as to the use and abuse of facts and 
figures in oratory. 

The vast majority of persons love a fact and a senti- 
ment, but loathe an argument, because all can compre- 
hend the former and few can understand the latter. 
Minds that can reason a single step beyond the necessary 
requirements of existence are a small minority. A sin- 
gle fact seeming to confirm an opinion that has been taken 
upon trust weighs more with such minds than a logical 
demonstration. In like manner, a sentiment is vehemently 



256 The Oratory of the Senate. 

applauded, and accepted as if it were proof, by those who 
feel bnt cannot think. Facts and figures are essential in* 
gred^nts in a business speech ; but they require careful 
handling, for they are addressed to the reasoners as well 
as to those who cannot reason. The art of effectively ma- 
nipulating facts and figures in a speech, where the audi- 
ence have not time to grasp the details, as when they are 
read, consists in an elaborate and careful exposition of the 
results, for these will be readily apprehended and easily 
remembered, while the items are unheard or forgotten. 
If, for instance, your theme be crime and punishment ; 
you show the operation of .existing punishments upon 
crime by reference to the judicial statistics. To make 
your argument complete, it is necessary for you to state 
the items that compose the totals, for the reporter will 
need these for the satisfaction of your readers, although 
your audience cannot possibly follow the calculations with 
the speed of your utterance. You may therefore recite 
them briefly and rapidly. But what you desire to imp^ o ss 
upon other minds is the result j t ou deduce from them 
you show that crime has or has not increased by a certain 
percentage, or in a certain ratio to the whole population, 
or in a certain direction ; and such conclusions you should 
invariably put forward in the plainest language, with em- 
phatic utterance, and even repeat them twice or thrice, to 
be assured that they are understood by all. 

The business speech As one degree more formal than the 
conversational debate. It should be well planned, with 
attention to natural logic ; and, if the argument it contains 
is in any degree abstruse, — nay, in any case, — it is a 
prudent practice to wind up with a repetition of the 
conclusions to which you have designed to conduct your 



The Oratory of the Ser ate. 257 

hearers. Let the speech abound in illustration, lut be 
sparing of ornament ; your purpose is not to please, but to 
inform. They who choose to listen, do so because the 
subject interests them ; they have come for a certain work ; 
they desire to perform it as speedily as possible, and they 
resent as a waste of time whatever does not contribute di- 
rectly to the common object. The man who most readily 
commands a hearing in the House is not he who makes the 
finest speeches, but he who speaks sensibly on subjects on 
which he is well informed. Hence it is that many men 
have a good reputation in the House, and no fame out of 
it, and are heard there with respectful silence, although 
wanting in every grace of oratpiy. The best training for 
the business' speech is frequent practice of the colloquial 
speech, already described ; and the best field for its exer- 
ercise, especially for the beginner, is in committee of the 
whole House upon bills, when the attendance is usually 
thin, the opportunity for rising frequent, and no criticism 
is to be feared. 

The third division of the oratory of the senate is that 
of the oration, properly so called, — the set speech on a 
set subject, after formal notice, with time for preparation, 
when the speaker is expected to be prepared. The great 
occasions for these grand exercises are the bringing for- 
ward of a motion on a subject of high importance, or ask- 
ing for leave to bring in a bill affecting weighty interests. 
The initiative being then with 3^ou, it is your business to 
put the House in possession of the entire of the case, — the 
facts, the arguments, the conclusions yon deduce from 
them. In such an enterprise every resource of your art 
is open to you, nay, is required of you. You may ap- 
peal to the passions, to the sympathies, to the sentiments, 
17 



258 The Oratory of the Senate. 

to the reason, of your hearers ; you may strive to convince 
or to persuade, to win or to warn. You cannot be too elo- 
quent, provided it be true eloquence. Your discourse 
should be a composition constructed with consummate 
art, on a definite plan, complete in all its parts and per- 
fect as a whole. The hints that have been submitted to 
you in the preceding letters will here be called into req- 
uisition, — alike as to the structure of the speech, its com- 
position, its ornaments, and its utterance. I need not, 
therefore, now repeat them. Suffice it to say, that it 
should be carefully prepared, not in actual wording, but 
in thought. Commit the plan to paper, but only the 
plan. Sketch in tabular array your course of argument, so 
arranged that the eye may catch in a moment the sugges- 
tion at an} r part where your memory may have failed you. 
If there are figures, or a quotation, set them out in full at 
their proper places. But write no more than this, unless 
it be the peroration, which high authorities have recom- 
mended, both by precept and example, as a proper subject 
for utterance from the memory. I am not quite satisfied 
that they are right. I doubt whether the translation from 
the language of extempore speaking to the very different 
structure of a written composition is not so manifest as to 
jar upon the ear and offend the taste. On the other 
hand, I admit the necessity for a striking close to a good 
speech, and that its effect is much heightened by rising 
gradually to a climax of thought and language. I ac- 
knowledge the extreme difficulty of accomplishing this by 
a single effort of the mind, without correction or choice of 
expressions. At all events, only great genius or intense 
emotion can extemporize such bursts of eloquence, and it 
will be safer for average men to prepare their perorations, 



The Oratory of the Senate. 259 

writing them, correcting them, elaborating them, until 
they satisfy the taste of the author. But inasmuch as it 
is very difficult for any man to form a correct judgment 
of his own recent compositions, it would be desirable, if 
practicable, to call to your aid a judicious friend, and sub- 
mit the work to his criticism and correction, before it is 
finall} r adopted and committed to the memory. 

More than this I cannot recommend you to attempt, 
for I have witnessed the most painful failures from 
adoption of the advice given by some writers on oratory, 
that you should compose and commit to memory certain 
passages in your speech, to be introduced at points that 
afford opportunities for a flourish. The transition from 
the extempore to the written passages is manifest to the 
audience, and mars the unity of the work. The inter- 
polated paragraphs rarely fit into the places into which 
they are thrust ; they are almost certain to be out of keep- 
ing with that which preceded or with that which follows. 
Even if the ideas should harmonize, the construction of 
the sentences and the language are sure not to do so. 
And not only the matter, but the manner, undergoes an 
awkward change. The very tone of the voice and aspect 
of the countenance are different when you speak from 
the mind or from the memory. This is unpleasantly 
apparent to the least critical of your audience. Then 
the balder and tamer parts of your discourse appear 
doubly bald and tame after the flowers and the fume of 
the eloquence that had gone before. Last of all, but 
not least, in its clangers is the possibility, nay, the 
probability, of the memory proving treacherous. If there 
is the slightest slip, all is gone ; the thread once lost 
is never regained. You beat about with evident effort, 



260 The Oratory of the Senate. 

looking as bewildered as you feel ; you try back, talk 
nonsense, and at length fairly break down, utterly dis- 
comfited. Of course, the more of these written passages 
you try to introduce, the more you multiply the chances 
of this most ignominious form of failure. 

Lastly, there is the reply. This is the triumph, of 
speech-making, if not of oratory. A great oration may 
be best made in the introduction of a subject ; but a 
great speech in a reply. This it is that tests the true 
genius of an orator. By labor or preparation it is 
possible for mediocrity to get up a formal oration that 
may truly deserve admiration as a work of art. But 
a reply cannot be got up ; in its nature it must be 
impromptu, and for its efficiency it must depend entirely 
upon the natural powers of the orator. If you observe 
closely the various speakers in Parliament, you will 
note how some who are accounted orators, and who 
make fine speeches, never commit themselves to a reply, 
while all the greatest intellects there reserve themselves 
for the reply. Here it is that the orator revels in the 
full enjoj^ment of all his faculties and the unrestricted 
exercise of his art. He is bound by no rules of construc- 
tion, he has not to search for subjects, usually he is 
embarrassed only by the wealth of them, for whatever 
has been mooted in the debate is his to deal with at 
his pleasure. He has taken note of the weak points in 
the argument, and, with these before him, he treats them 
in their order, with the further consciousness that his 
is the last word, and therefore that he has the advantage 
of the last impression upon the minds of the audience. 
For a task so all-embracing and miscellaneous, no rales 
can be prescribed, for it is not subject to rule, and no 



The Oratory of the Bar. 261 

hints can be suggested, for the moment must teach its 
own lesson. I can only say that you will best educate 
yourself to the reply by sedulous study of the arts of 
writing,, reading, and speaking, and the hints I have 
thrown out to this end may help you to attain the 
object of your ambition. 



SLettcr SHI* 

THE OB AT OB Y OF THE BAB. 

That bar oratory has a style of its own is evident from 
this, that, with rare exceptions, great orators of the bar 
are not equally successful in the Legislature, and some 
are conspicuous failures. Probably this is due in part to 
the prejudice with which the speeches of lawyers are 
received in the House of Commons. They are looked 
upon, with what justice I will not venture to affirm or 
deny, as place-hunters rather than patriots ; as advocates 
speaking from a brief, more than as men pleading the 
cause which in their honest consciences they believe to 
be the truth and the right. If they speak well, they 
obtain little credit, for it is thought to be their business 
to speak ; 'and, if they speak indifferently, they are 
laughed at as men who do not know their business. A 
foregone conclusion thus taints the judgment. To achieve 
success, far greater ability and sagacity must be displayed 
by the lawyer in the Legislature than would suffice to 
conduct a layman to fame and influence. 



262 The Oratory of the Bar. 

But, if you would prosper at the bar, you must not 
suffer your aspirations after parliamentary honors to 
divert your studies for a moment from the arts by which 
the success of the advocate is to be achieved. In this, 
as in all its other departments, the law is a jealous mis- 
tress, and you must serve her with all your soul and all 
your strength. She will not endure a divided allegiance, 
nor permit } r ou to win other fame than that which she 
confers. If you resolve to make the bar your business, 
as well as your profession, you will probably have to un- 
learn much, as certainly you will require to learn a great 
deal. If you have cultivated oratory at Oxford, or Cam- 
bridge, or at any of the spouting clubs in London, almost 
surely you will have acquired a style of speaking 
altogether unfitted for the bar, and which 3^011 must 
discard with all possible speed, without hesitation and 
without reserve. The debating-club style is the worst 
you can bring into a court of justice, and exposes its 
exhibitor to certain humiliation and failure. It is the 
most fruitful cause of breaking down at the bar, and 
when you see it still adhering to a man after six months 
of trial, you may look upon him as hopeless. Being thus 
fatal, your first and most earnest endeavors should be 
directed to learn if any trace of this stjde cleaves to you, 
and, if it be found, you should strive laboriously to cast 
it off. 

You will not better know yourself in this than in more 
important matters. Consult, therefore, a judicious friend, 
or, if j^ou have none, seek the counsel of a professional 
teacher of elocution. Prefer a friend, if he can be found, 
for his ears are likely to be more true than those of mas- 
ters, who are themselves apt to fall into mannerisms 



The Oratory of the Bar. 263 

almost as disagreeable as the faults they are invited to 
mend. Give } r our friend an opportunity to hear you 
speak at some time when you are to do so in earnest ; for 
a private recitation, made with express purpose to avoid 
a defect, would not be a sufficient test. If he should 
detect the slightest traces of the debating-club style, — 
which I cannot describe, although you will recognize it in 
a moment, — you should direct your efforts to its removal. 
Its principal features are grandiloquence, floweriness, 
phrase-making, poetizing, word-picking, and mouthing, — 
all or some of them. To banish these, you must rather 
go to their opposites, and learn, by frequent practice, to 
speak with exceeding plainness and simplicit} T , clothing 
your thoughts in the common language of every-day life, 
and putting your sentences into the most un-essay-like 
form ; in brief, bring down your oratory to talking, and 
from that basis start afresh, omitting no opportunity for 
practice, and, when practising, ever bearing in mind that 
your present object is to imlearn. 

Having shifted more or less those evil habits, and 
become again a pupil, accept a few hints as to what it 
will be necessary for you to learn. 

In studying the art of oratory for the bar, you must, 
in the first place, keep clearly before you the objects of it. 
Unlike most of the other forms of oratory, it is not a 
display of yourself, — with the acquisition of fame as the 
primary purpose, — but it is a dut}^ which you have under- 
taken for the benefit of another, and your single thought 
should be. — as I believe with most of us it is — the 
advantage of your clhnt. Whatever will best promote 
his interests you are bound to do, without a thought of 
display on your own part. The cause of your client is 



264 The Oratory of the Bar. 

advanced only by persuading the jury and convincing the 
court. Therefore your business is to adopt precisely that 
style of speaking which will best persuade jurymen and 
convince judges, and this is not a style that finds favor in 
the debating club or in the House of Commons. 

Of each separately. 

Juries differ much in character, not merely in the 
various counties, in commercial and rural districts, in 
London and in the provinces, but even in the same 
locality, at the same assizes or sittings ; and, therefore, 
3 r our first care should be to study the character of your 
jury. I am referring now to the common jury ; the 
special jury will be separately considered hereafter. 

If you have accustomed yourself to read the character 
in the face, you will probably make a shrewd guess of 
your men at a glance. But it must be confessed that 
the countenance sometimes deceives, and we are often 
surprised to find a sound judgment under a stolid front 
and an intelligent aspect concealing a shallow mind. 
Your eye will give you a reading that will prove toler- 
ably correct ; do not, however, rest upon that alone, but 
watch closely the twelve heads, when the case is launched, 
and especially when the witnesses are under examination. 
Then you will certainly discover who are the intelligent, 
who the impotent, who the sagacious, who the shallow, 
who the facile, who the obstinate. Knowing them, you 
know how to deal with them ; you know who will lead the 
others, and therefore to whom you are mainly to address 
yourself; you learn whom you must endeavor to con- 
vince, whom to persuade, whom to bend to your will, and 
you must mould your speech to the measure of their ca- 
pacities. 



The Oratory of the Bar, 265 

In the first place, it is essential that all of them should, 
if possible, understand what you are saying to them, and, 
as in a team the slowest horse regulates the pace, so 
must you address yourself to the comprehension of the 
lowest intelligence among the twelve, and I need not say 
that with a common jury this is too often very low indeed. 
But do not mistake my meaning in this. When I tell 
you that you must speak for the ignorant, I do not con- 
template vulgar thoughts, or low-life phrases, but your 
own ideas put into plain language, and enforced by 
familiar illustrations. The besetting sin of advocates is 
that of talking over the heads of their juries, — addressing 
to them words that are as strange to their ears, and 
therefore as unintelligible to their minds, as any foreign 
tongue, and in throwing before them ideas comprehen- 
sible only to the cultivated intellect. I am perfectly con- 
scious of the extreme difficulty of avoiding this error ; 
how hard it is even to recognize the fact, that thoughts 
and words, which habit has made familiar to you, are 
unintelligible to minds that have not enjoyed your train- 
ing ; how still more formidable is the task of translating, 
as you speak, the fine words that come naturally to your 
lips into the homely vernacular of the classes from whom 
the common juries are taken. But this is your business, 
anil to this you must train yourself at any cost of time 
and labor, for it is a condition of success at the common 
law bar, that will be excused only in rare and excep- 
tional cases of extraordinary capacities securing sufficient 
business of the class that is addressed to special juries or 
to the judge. 

You will soon learn to know if you are making your- 
self to be understood by your jury, holding not their ears 



266 The Oratory of the Bar. 

only, but their minds. It is difficult to describe the signs 
of this : a certain steady gaze of attention and fixedness 
of feature, and commonly a slight bending forward of the 
head, are the usual outward manifestations. But more 
sure than these is that secret sympathy which exists be- 
tween minds with whom a communication is established. 
You feel that you are listened to and understood, just as 
you are painfully conscious when your audience are not 
heeding, though they be ever so silent and still. Keep 
your eyes upon the jurymen while you address them, for 
the eye is often as attractive as the tongue ; watch them 
well, and, if you mark any that do not seem to listen, fix 
your eyes upon them, and you will talk to them, and they 
will feel as if you were addressing them individually, and 
open their ears accordingly. If they put on a puzzled 
look at any time, you may be sure that your argument is 
too subtle for them, or your language too fine. Be warned ; 
simplify your argument ; introduce some homely illus- 
tration ; win them to a laugh ; repeat in other forms and 
phrases the substance of what you have wasted in unin- 
telligible sentences. Above all, if you see them growing 
weary, restless in their seats, averting their eyes , yawning, 
looking at their watches,- and other symptoms of having 
heard enough, accept the warning and bring your speech 
to a close, even if you may not have said all that you 
designed to say. When your jury has come to this pass, 
continued attempts to attract their attention are not 
merely failures in themselves, but they mar the good 
effect of that which has gone before. Come to a hasty 
or even to an abrupt conclusion and resume your seat. 
The art of sitting down is quite as useful at the bar as in 
the other arenas of the orator. 



The Oratory of the Bar. 267 

The style of an address to a jury is peculiar. A 
formal speech is rarely required, and, when not required, 
it is altogether out of place and unpleasing. It argues 
bad taste as well as an unsound judgment, and is sure to 
be visited by a shower of ridicule. The occasions that 
call for oratory at the bar are very rare, and when they 
offer you should not neglect them ; but it is a mistake to 
suppose that, when they are turned to good account and 
a flourish has been made, success is achieved. It is not 
tne orator, but the talker, who wins fame and fortune 
nowadaj^s as an advocate. A tendency to speechifying 
is rather a hindrance than a help in our courts, where 
there are a hundred commonplace disputes, in which it 
would be ludicrous to attempt eloquence, for one great 
case in which oratory is looked for. Imagine, if you can, 
a rhapsody in a running-down case, or a grand peroration 
in an action for goods sold. 

Remember this, that you may win renown and fortune 
at the bar without the capacity to make a speech ; but 
you will certainly fail, though great in oratory, if you do 
nothing more than spout. Strive to accomplish both, and 
to know the fit occasions for each ; but educate yourself 
to talk well, as your chiefest need. 

An oration at the bar does not differ much in its con- 
struction from an oration elsewhere. The rules I have 
already suggested for oratory generally are equally appli- 
cable to this form of it, and to them you should refer for 
further instructions. 

Our present concern is with the ordinary business of an 
advocate in the civil courts before a common jury. The 
examination and cross-examination of witnesses do not 
properly belong to the subject of these letters ; and as I 



268 The Oratory of the Bar. 

have already treated them at some length in The Advocate, 
I pass them by now, and invite you at once to the consid- 
eration of the address to the jury. 

Light, lively, pleasant talk is the most effective. Do 
not speak at them or to them, but with them. Lord Abin- 
ger used to say that his great success as an advocate was 
due to his making himself the thirteenth juryman. There 
could not be a better illustration of the manner of dealing 
with juries. Therefore take a little trouble at first to put 
yourself on good terms with your jury, — not by flattering 
language, but by that more effective flattery which is 
shown, not said. If you meet a man in the street, and 
want to convince or to persuade him, how do you proceed ? 
You take him by the button, you appeal to his intelli- 
gence, you explain the matter to him in the most familiar 
terms and with the most homely illustrations, and you do 
not let him go till you have made him understand you. 
Twelve jurymen are only a multiplication of such cases, 
to be treated in the same manner. 

Good temper goes a great way towards conciliating 
a jury. Command yourself; win with smiles; frowns 
repel them. Exhibit unflinching confidence in your 
cause ; for any distrust betrayed by you is instantly im- 
parted to them. If the subject is dr}^, enliven it with 
some timely jest ; and the duller the theme the smaller 
the joke that suffices to relieve its dulness. Throw be- 
fore them as much fact and as little argument as possible*; 
you are not so likely to convince as to persuade. When 
you think what sort of minds you are seeking to sway, 
how entirely incompetent they are to follow an argument, 
you must make the most of facts, treating your audience 
as children, who are never tired of listening to that which 



The Oratory of the Bar. 269 

paints a picture upon their minds, or evokes a sentiment ; 
but whom abstractions and logic send to sleep. The 
majority of an}' common jury are in -this respect only 
children. You may make them " see it ;" you may make 
them " feel it ; " but I defy you to lead them, by the 
cleverest and closest argument, to be convinced, as a cul- 
tivated thinker is convinced. 

Make large use of illustrations ; they will be readily 
accepted as substitutes for argument, and often, I am 
sorry to say, for facts. But you must not travel for them 
beyond the circle with which your jurymen are familiar. 
You will not throw light on one obscurity by comparing 
it with another. Refer to their own knowledge and ex- 
perience whenever you can, and make your client's case 
their own, if the slightest chance opens to you. 



SUtter SHIff. 

THE OBATOBY OF THE BAB (COtfTDTUEB). 

It has been often to me a matter for regret that law- 
yers are excepted from liability to serve on juries. I am 
sure that to all of us who aspire to be advocates there 
could be nothing more instructive than to act as a jury- 
man occasionally. When I have seen the twelve heads 
laid together in debate upon the verdict, I have felt the 
most eager curiosity to learn what view each one had 
taken of the case, and b} r what process the twelve men 



270 The Oratory of the Bar. 

arrived at their unanimous decision. I have thought that, 
if I could but be among them through a dozen trials, 
to witness what most moved each, to what extent some 
were governed by others, and how the unavoidable con- 
flict of opinion was conducted and finally closed, I should 
possess a knowledge that would be of inestimable value 
to me in dealing with other juries whom it was my busi- 
ness to persuade. That source of knowledge has, how- 
ever, by the policy of the law, been closed against us ; 
and we can only guess what goes on in a jury-box from 
the verdicts that we hear, and slight intimations occa- 
sionally given by a question or a look. 

But although it has never been my good fortune to 
sit upon a jury, an intelligent friend of mine, who is not 
a lawyer, was compelled lately to serve at the sittings of 
one of the courts at Westminster. I was curious to 
learn what were the results of the experience thus 
obtained. It was a common jury ; but many of its mem- 
bers were men of somewhat superior intelligence and 
respectabilit} 7 , — in intellect far above the average of 
country juries. 

His report of them is startling. He tells me that the 
most striking characteristic he discovered on the very 
first day of his attendance (and it was confirmed by sub- 
sequent experience) was the hastiness with which they 
formed an opinion of a case. The opening for the plain- 
tiff, when clearly and plausibly stated by a counsel whose 
manner pleased them, almost invariably so prejudiced 
their minds in the plaintiff's favor, that only the strong- 
est case on the part of the defendant sufficed to disturb 
the judgment thus prematurely formed. He says that the 
speech always weighed with them much more than the 



The Oratory of the Bar. 2^1 

evidence ; and that, as a rule, they accepted the state- 
ment of the case by counsel as the very fact, without 
waiting to see if ifc was sustained by proof; and, even 
though the proofs failed, the connected story that had 
been first conveyed to their minds was rarely permitted 
to be disturbed by contradictions or failure in evidence, 
— as if they had not the power of comparison, or were 
reluctant that their clear conceptions of the case should 
be disturbed by difficulties which they wanted the wit to 
solve. 

My own impression had been that juries were very 
little led by the speeches of counsel, but very much by 
the summing up of the judge. I was surprised to learn 
that, according to my friend's experience, it is otherwise. 
His juries, he said, appeared to be more led by the coun- 
sel than b}^ the judge. The weariness of a day in the 
jury-box was relieved by the speeches. They were heard 
because they were amusing, when, perhaps, a great deal 
of the evidence had scarcely entered at the ear, and had 
never reached the mind. Many of his fellows paid no 
attention whatever to the evidence, as if they felt them- 
selves incompetent to weigh its worth and extract the 
truth from it ; and they seemed to rely upon the speeches 
of counsel for all their information, unconscious that 
these distorted some parts of the case and suppressed 
others. The judge's summing-up carried very little 
weight indeed with them. In almost every case their 
minds were made up before the trial had reached this 
last stage ; and, unless the judge explained to them some 
question of law, they gave small heed to his impartial 
representation of the facts as proved. 

Then, he says, the prejudices were enormous, and the 



272 The Oratory of the Bar. 

bias they occasioned was frightful. The justice of a casa 
was the very last consideration ; if any other existed, 
the -preference was given to it. If one of the parties had 
a friend or a friend's friend in the jury-box, that influence 
was perceptible at once. If the subject-matter was one 
in which even a few of the jurymen were concerned, as 
similarity of trade, or consciousness of being open to the 
same complaint, the verdict was certain. The majority 
being tradesmen, it was useless to dispute a tradesman's 
bill, or the amount of his charges. A company had no 
chance with them, whatever the merits of its defence. If 
it was objected, by the more intelligent and fair-minded, 
that the right was with the defendant, it was always 
answered that a company could afford to pay, but a 
verdict against the poor plaintiff would ruin him. When 
a difference arose about the verdict, he found that among 
the twelve were always some whose minds were not to be 
moved by any argument or remonstrance. Such was 
their opinion, and they would not listen to the views of 
their colleagues ; and frequently, though a minority, they 
succeeded, by simple persistency, in bringing the more 
yielding round to their own side, and thus carrying the 
verdict. 

Always many of the jury were stupid men, utterly 
incompetent to form a judgment upon the questions sub- 
mitted to them, and led by the first statement of the case 
for the plaintiff ; or, if that was beyond their comprehen- 
sion, bj- the leaning of the judge ; or, if that was too diffi- 
cult for their understandings, they simply acquiesced in 
whatever the more intelligent among them dictated, 
unless it ran counter to a prejudice or a partiality ; for 



The Oratory of the Bar. 273 

these always carried the day against counsel, judge, 
justice, reason, and their fellows. 

When such is the experience of London juries, which 
are certainly far above the average in intelligence, it may 
be well imagined what sort of justice is dispensed at the 
assizes, where the average intelligence is immensely 
lower ; and you will now cease to wonder why the suitors 
in the county courts, where a jury is optional and not 
compulsory, shun it so eagerly that it is demanded only 
in one case in nine hundred, and then by a suitor who is 
conscious that his case is a bad one, and whose only 
chance lies in the injustice of a jury. It is there ob- 
served that, whenever a man is conscious that he has a 
good case, he prefers that it should be tried by the judge 
alone. 

The general result of my friend's experience was thus 
stated to me: — " From what I have seen of juries, I 
should be sorry to commit to them any matter in which 
I was interested, and when satisfied that I had right on 
my side. Knowing what I now know, I would make 
large sacrifices, and submit to much extortion, rather 
than trust myself to that which I had been accustomed 
to look upon as the ' palladium of British justice,' — until 
I had taken part in it." 

The general unfitness of the jury system for the trial 
of civil suits will probably not be unknown to you ; for 
you could not have sat as a disinterested spectator in a 
Nisi Prius court for a w r eek without learning that lesson. 
But the directions which that unfitness takes will doubt- 
less be as new to you as they certainly were to me. I 
was not prepared for the extraordinary value of the 
opening statement of the plaintiffs case, nor for the corn- 
18 



274 The Oratory of the Bar. 

paratively small regard paid to the summing up of the 
judge. Somehow I had assumed, without reflection, that 
the judge's influence would be decish r e, not merely on 
account of his position, but because his is the last word 
addressed to the jury. Knowing now what is the fact, 
I can see reasons for it that had never occurred to me. 
The mind that is unaccustomed to reflect, to compare, and 
to judge, is moved mainly by the facts presented to it. 
The story that is first told is first written upon it. When 
a conflicting story is afterwards told, it is rejected ; 
because the mind wants the capacity to go through the 
process of comparing, judging, and extracting the truth 
from the opposing statements, and therefore it gladly 
takes refuge in adherence to the narrative first ad- 
dressed to it, and thus escapes the bewilderment caused 
by having the ears opened to both sides. 

But whether this solution be right or wrong, the fact 
remains, and the lesson to be learned from it is, that the 
opening speech is of far greater moment than advocates 
have deemed it to be ; and that you should study this 
portion of your practice with more care than is commonly 
given to it. Your aim should be to state your case so 
clearly that, as presented by you, it shall carry convic- 
tion with it to those minds — and they are usually the 
majority — in the jury-box, which, being unable to 
entertain two ideas at once, and incompetent to compare 
or to reason, are satisfied to be thus easily filled, and 
refuse to be puzzled by the contradictions, too subtle for 
their comprehensions, that are afterwards presented to 
them. 

A special jury is, of course, less subject to these dis- 
turbing influences. But precisely in proportion to its 



The Oratory of the Bar. 275 

intelligence does the probability of differences increase. 
Twelve men who are competent to form an independent 
judgment, and who desire to discharge their duty faith- 
fully, according to the dictates of their consciences, are 
not likely to take the same views of questions upon which 
the most astute lawyers have found such differences that 
they have counselled the parties to contest them in a 
court of law. To require the unanimity of twelve sensible 
men upon doubtful questions is so absurd, because so 
impossible, that one is amazed such an attempt should 
ever have been made, and ashamed that it has not been 
abandoned long ago. Nor could it have been persisted 
in for twenty years, but for the necessary addition of a 
detestable tyranny to an irrational folly. So long as the 
law consistently sought to compel an apparent unanimity, 
by the' torture of imprisonment in cold and hunger, the 
unreflecting public presumed that the machine they had 
been taught to venerate worked as well as sentimentalists 
asserted. But no sooner had unanimity ceased to be 
compelled by torture, than the truth appeared. Juries, 
in rapidly increasing numbers, were discharged without a 
verdict, by reason of hopeless disagreements. 

Therefore, in dealing with a special jury, you have 
two aims : first, to win the verdict, if you can ; and, fail- 
ing that, to produce such a difference of opinion as may 
lead to their discharge without a verdict. In addressing 
a special jury, you should assume a tone and manner, 
and form of speech different from those with which you 
talk to a common jury. You should raise yourself to 
them, — you may venture upon argument, — you inay use 
choicer language, without fear of speaking " over their 
heads ; " you may appeal to many motives that would be 



276 The Oratory of the Bar. 

unfelt by a common jury. But a special jury is not with- 
out prejudices of its own, class prejudices which your own 
instincts ought to tell you to avoid, or to enlist on your 
side, as the need may be. It will be- unnecessary to re- 
sort to the repetitions that are essential where it is your 
task to beat ideas into minds slow, because unaccustomed 
to thought ; the same arts are not required to fix their at- 
tention. 

The style best adapted for a special jury is indicated 
by your office. You are a gentleman, talking to gentle- 
men who are your equals in position, and therefore it 
should be free without being familiar, and deferential 
without humility. You have the advantage in this, that 
you have something to tell them which you know, and it 
is your business to impart your knowledge to them ; but, 
also they are to be your judges, and therefore you treat 
them as men whose good will you are desirous to con- 
ciliate. 

And, with alt juries, whether special or common, remem- 
ber the precept I have already urged upon you ; do not 
weary them by saying too much ; but, even if you have 
more to say, on the instant you perceive the first unmis- 
takable symptoms of weariness in your audience, bring 
your speech to a close, and sit down ; for, from that 
moment, you are not merely wasting the best argument, 
and the most artistic eloquence, — you are undoing what- 
ever advantage you may have gained before, and every 
sentence is a step backwards from victory. 



The Oratory of the Bar. 277 

SUtter X3LIE3L 

THE OBATOBT OF THE BAB (CONCLUDED}. 

When you address the court, you should adopt a style, 
a manner, and a tone different from those with which 
you address a jury, whether special or common. When 
speaking to a jury, you deal with men not learned in the 
law, for the most part not well accustomed to the mental 
work of rapidly following a compact argument. Alike 
with a special and a common jury, it is necessary to 
elaborate your argument, that they may keep pace with 
it, and to repeat it, or the more important part of it, 
even twice or thrice, for assurance that the slowest mind 
among the twelve shall have taken hold of it. But when 
you address the court you appeal to intelligence greater 
than your own, to a mind or minds practised in argu- 
ment, trained to its pursuit, comprehending instantly the 
meaning of every word you use, and the more technical 
your talk the more intelligible it is to the listeners. 
Therefore you need none of the arts required to win the 
ears of a jury. You should condense your thoughts and 
language, devoting your entire attention to the logical 
array of yowc argument, and the precision -with which you 
present it. The graces of oratory, such as voice and 
manner can impart, are never useless, nor to be despised 
in any kind of speaking, and they are not to be disre- 
garded even in addressing the court ; but they are by no 
means necessary to a successful effort. The attention of 
the judge is directed more to your argument than to you, 



278 The Oratory of the Bar. 

— to your matter rather than to your manner ; and, pro- 
vided that the argument you have constructed be sound 
and sensible, it will be heard and accepted, although con- 
ve} T ed in broken sentences and inelegant language. 
Hesitating speech to a jury is worse than fluent feeble- 
ness, because it is mistaken for incapacity ; but, by the 
court, fluency and hesitation are alike disregarded, and 
the speaker is measured more by his mind than by his 
lips. Do not, therefore, lose courage if you lack expres- 
sion for your logic ; provided only that you have in your 
own mind the clear construction of an argument, you may 
safely trust to your audience to seize it, howsoever 
ungainly the manner in which you bring it forth. 

But then it is difficult to discover if you have in your 
mind a perfectly reasoned argument. In fact, the mind 
is very apt, unconsciously to itself, to adopt a summary 
process of reasoning, and to arrive at a conclusion by 
jumps, instead of by steps. When in a merely contem- 
plative argument we arrive at a difficulty, the mind is 
liable to pass on one side of it, or to leap over it, instead 
of threading its way through it, and often the fault is not 
found until the thoughts take shape in words. The 
surest way to avoid this not uncommon discomfiture is 
to set down your argument upon paper, — not the very 
words to be used, but only an ofttline of it, — in the order 
in which you design to place it before the court. This 
skeleton of the discourse will serve the double purpose of 
enabling you to detect any defects or fallacies not seen 
when it existed only in contemplation, and of keeping 
you strictly to the point when you are presenting it to 
the court. In this summary be careful to separate the 
several parts of the argument, so that they may be 



The Oratory of the Bar. 279 

readily caught by the eye, for when you are hurried 
and flurried by action, a written page is merely a con- 
fused mass to your glance, unless the sentences are 
marked b^ very obvious divisions. Although you would 
not habitually resort to the preacher's practice of an- 
nouncing the divisions of the discourse to the audience, 
with the formidable figures that advise them of the task 
that is before them, it is necessary that you should so 
state the divisions on your note, for your own guidance. 
These divisions should be written from the outer margin, 
and the subdivisions should be written within a second 
margin, and the cases you propose to cite by way of 
illustration should be noted within a third margin. The 
effect of this arrangement is, that at any moment a glance 
will inform you what you have said, what more you have 
to say, and in what order you should say it. 

In putting your argument, your manner should be 
deferential and your language suggestive. Nothing but 
consummate ability and unquestioned profundity of legal 
knowledge excuses a dogmatic style of address. It has 
been endured by, and even commanded respect from, 
the bench ; but it was accompanied by personal dislike, 
and no junior could adopt it with impunity. Diffidence, 
even if it take the form of confusion of speech, is sure to 
receive kindly encouragement from the judges, and you 
could not desire a more generous audience. 

Do not, however, think that I design to assert that 
manner is unimportant in addressing a judge. Every- 
where, and always, it is of moment. A judge will hear 
you, and try to understand you, however badly you may 
express yourself; but he will listen more readily, and 
your argument will be more effective, because more 



280 The Oratory of the Bar. 

certainly understood, if it be couched in good language 
and uttered with some of the graces of an orator. Even 
though you may determine never to address a jury, you 
should not the less fit yourself to speak in a pleasing 
strain to the judges, whether in the equity courts or 
elsewhere. 

So, when you address magistrates at quarter sessions, 
carefully avoid the too frequent fault of talking to them 
as to a jury. True that they are the judges both of the 
fact and of the law, and to that extent perform the office 
of jurymen ; but then they are a very special jury, and 
are not swayed by the clap-trap and fallacies that are 
commonly used by advocates to influence juries. On 
this point I speak from some experience, and I can tell 
you that many a time I have seen the utmost impatience 
upon the bench of eloquent speeches addressed to the 
justices that would have secured a verdict with a jury. 
Educated men, sitting as judges, even though they may 
not be lawyers, desire facts and arguments, and look 
upon anything more than these, and especially upon 
complimentary language, sentimentalities, and fine 
phrases, as rather an insult to their understandings. If 
these last have any effect at all, it is only to weary or to 
repel. 

It is often asked, how far jesting is permissible at the 
bar. It is not in good taste, perhaps, but I must admit 
that it is very effective. When the most grave work is 
being done men feel the strongest tendency to laugh. It 
is wonderful what slight and sorry jests will provoke 
shouts of laughter in a court of justice. I will not now 
consider the cause of this, though the philosophy of 
humor accounts for it. The fact suffices, that when 



The Oratory of the Bar. 281 

surrounded by solemnity we are most easily tickled to 
laughter. The advocate who can summon smiles to the 
lips of his audience will command their ears more cer- 
tainly than he who can only call tears into their eyes, 
and both will achieve an easy triumph over the speaker 
who can do neither, let him be ever so accomplished in 
other respects. If, therefore, jesting secures the object 
of the orator, which is in the first place to procure an 
attentive hearing, a moderate use of it is permissible* 
But the danger of the practice lies in the difficulty of 
observing moderation. The habit grows with indulgence ; 
a successful jest to day will provoke two to-morrow, and 
when the joke comes to the lips, it is almost impossible 
to suppress the utterance of it. The conclusion is, that 
you may jest, with due discretion both as to quality and 
quantity ; but, conscious of the tendency of the practice 
to degenerate, keep a watch over yourself, to restrain the 
impulse when it comes out of place. 

I have said that, in the vast majority of cases, you 
must not speechify to your juries, but only talk to them, 
especially at Nisi Prius. Eloquence would be worse than 
useless over a disputed account or a questionable contract, 
— it would be positively ridiculous. The more simple, 
straightforward, and business-like your speech, the more 
influence it will carry. It should be plain to homeliness 
in its language, and entirely unoratorieal in manner* 
You are to discuss with the twelve men before you a 
matter of business, — nothing more ; and you address 
them precisely as you would were you to stop any one of 
them in the street, and talk over with him "that little 
affair." I can give you no better illustration of my 
meaning. 



282 The Oratory of the Platform. 

Sometimes, though rarely, the occasion will arise when 
it will be your duty to appeal to the feelings of your jury. 
Then do it thoroughly. Throw your whole heart into the 
work. Do not halt half-way ; do not fear that you will 
go too far ; I never yet saw a speaker fail from excess 
of emotion, but I have seen many fail from lack of it. 
If it becomes your business to appeal to the feelings at 
all, there is scarcely a limit to the sweep of the chords ; 
all may be pressed into your service to produce the one 
tone it is your purpose to evoke. But remember — and 
I repeat the rule yet once again, for it is the golden one 
that lies at the foundation of the art of oratory — 
effectually to kindle the emotions of others you must 
yourself be moved ; to make them feel you must feel ; a 
mere acted part will not answer. Sympathy is the secret 
string by which the emotions are awakened, and there is 
no sympathy with a sham, however well disguised and 
cleverly acted. 



better SSLEF. 

TEE OB AT OB Y OF THE PLATFOBM. 

I class under this general title all the various speak- 
ings that are addressed to the public at large, on matters 
of public concern, and as distinguished from those 
addressed to selected persons to whom you speak as 
a citizen, and not in a professional capacity. The dis- 
tinction, which is of some importance, will be recognized 



The Oratory of the Platform. 283 

at once by the instance of a Member of Parliament 
When he addresses his constituents, seeking for election, 
his oratory is that of the platform. When, being elected, 
he addresses the House of Commons, he speaks in his 
professional character as an M.P., and the strain of his 
oratory will be that which I have endeavored to describe 
in the letter that treats of the oratory of the senate. 

The oratory of the platform has some characteristics 
common to all times, places, and assemblies, and which 
are essential to the successful practice of it. But, 
in addition to these universal features, certain special 
qualities are required for various kinds of platform speak- 
ing, according to the various natures of the occasion, the 
subject, and the audience. I will first endeavor to give 
you a brief sketch of the general characteristics which 
you should study to comprehend, and then I will suggest 
what has appeared to me to be the special characteristics 
of some of the most important kinds of platform oratory. 

A public meeting is moved by two great levers, one of 
which is supplied by the speaker, the other by the 
audience. You stir the people by your voice and words, 
but enthusiasm is supplied by themselves, caught by one 
from another and reflected again and again from mind to 
mind. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, for 
the most accomplished. orator, talking to a single man, or 
even to half a dozen men, to stir their hearts to tumult or 
inspire a fit of uncontrollable passion. There is wanting 
the silent sympathy by which mind communicates with 
mind, as if by the subtle influence of some undiscovered 
medium by whose agencj' the impressions of one mind are 
inaudibly and invisibl} r impressed upon all other minds 
within its sphere. The phenomena of panics and of 



284 The Oratory of the Platform. 

popular frenzies and delusions place beyond question the 
fact of the existence of such a sympathy, and the orator 
must avail himself of it upon the platform, if he would 
put forth the full power of his art. 

True, this sympathy is never kindled by argument 
alone. The most perfect logician the world has ever seen 
would fail to awaken the feelings of his audience, even 
while commanding their loftiest admiration and securing 
their heartiest applause, for the skill with which his 
reason has addressed itself to their intelligence. The 
better minds among the audience may be held in willing 
thraldom by a clear and convincing argument ; and, if 
that alone be the object of the orator, he may be proud 
of his success ; but the minds so to be won are few 
among the many ; the multitude must be moved by more 
stimulating appeals ; argument fails because ordinary 
minds cannot understand it ; the feelings alone are com- 
mon to all humanity, and through the feelings alone, 
therefore, can mixed assemblies be commanded. 

To secure the sympathies of an audience, it is in the 
first place necessary that you should be at one with them. 
The process is not wholly on your part. The most 
eloquent speaker cannot move an assembly entirely at 
his own pleasure, — there must be some predisposition on 
the part of the listeners to sympathize with him ; they 
must meet him, as it were, half-way. Consequently he is 
compelled to consult their prejudices. Let him run 
counter to these, and his influence is gone. It has been 
said, indeed, of speakers, as of writers, who court pop- 
ularity^ that they can achieve it only by expressing in 
more apt words than the listener can employ the emotions 
already lurking in the minds of those whom they address ; 



The Oratory of the Platform. 285 

that, in fact, the orator does but fire the train that has 
been previously laid. A brief experience will satisfy you 
how true is this. The lesson to be learned from it is, 
that, to succeed upon the platform, you should, as a rule, 
shun argument in its own shape, though sometimes you 
may venture it if cleverly disguised. But, inasmuch as 
a speech cannot be all declamation, and you must appear 
to aim at convincing even when you are only persuading, 
there is a resource always readily accepted as a substitute 
for argument, — narrative, simile, and type. If, for in- 
stance, you wish that a certain proposition should be 
accepted as truth ; should you proceed to prove it by an 
argument you would send half your audience to sleep, or 
throw them into a state of uneasy bewilderment. But 
tell them an anecdote that carries with it the desired con- 
clusion, or typify the teaching, or introduce a striking 
simile, and eyes and mouths will open, and the comparison 
or the incident will be accepted with unquestioning read- 
iness, however illogical the process, and however unsatis- 
factory the reasoning. 

It is a great art, in platform oratory, to have a nice 
and rapid perception of the temper of your audience, and 
coolness and courage to retreat when you find yourself 
treading on dangerous ground. A keen eye will tell you 
in a moment if you are going too far ; nay, by a kind of 
instinct, you will/ee? the shadow that is passing over the 
minds of the assembly, and, if you are wise, you will 
withdraw as gracefully as you can. I am unable to 
describe the aspect that indicates this incipient repulsion ; 
but you are conscious of a sudden shadow upon the 
upturned faces, and a chill that comes over yourself and 
freezes your energies. The best antidote to this, and the 



286 The Oratory of the Platform. 

surest cover for your retreat, is a joke, if you can perpe- 
trate one at such a moment ; a laugh is a certain restor- 
ative to good humor, and the folly will be forgotten in 
the fun. 

Your manner upon the platform should be deferential. 
A mixed audience is far more self-important and tetchy 
than a select party of the educated and intelligent. The 
more nearly an assembly resembles a mob, the more 
exacting it is of professions of respect. All the famous 
mob orators whom I have heard appeared to me to owe 
much of their power to the extreme deference they exhib- 
ited towards the people before them. King Mob feels an 
affront — and resents it, too — as readily as any other 
potentate. But you may take it as a maxim that an 
audience, whatever its composition, is more easily won 
than commanded. 

Another quality, essential to success upon the platform, 
is good humor, and good temper must be combined with 
it. You know the difference between them. Good 
humor is the foundation of geniality ; it is the habitual 
condition of a mind that looks on the sunny side of 
things, a kindly disposition, a cheerful temperament, an 
inclination to be rather blind to faults, and very discern- 
ing of virtues. Good humor is near of kin to good na- 
ture, though not identical with it. Its presence is always 
written upon the countenance and bespeaks favor for 
the orator before a word passes his lips. Good temper is 
not exhibited until the occasion calls for it, and then it 
is a quality of the highest value. In all mixed assem- 
blies of a public character, especially in political gather- 
ings, opposition is tolerably certain to appear in some 
shape, often in forms calculated, and possibly designed, 



The Oratory of the Platform. 287 

to produce vexation and anger. Nothing so surely baffles 
your opponents and wins for you the sympathy and sup- 
port of the friendly and indifferent as imperturbable 
good temper. Face abuse with a smile ; answer gibes 
with a joke, and you will turn. the laugh against your 
assailants. Under any imaginable provocation, "keep your 
temper; this will secure you the advantage everywhere. 
Lose your temper, and you are yourself lost ; you give the 
victory to your opponents. 

Another needful quality of platform oratory is courage, 
— moral and physical. As you should never betray 
anger, so should you never exhibit fear. In the fiercest 
conflicts of rival parties you should maintain unflinching 
firmness. You must learn to face hisses, Lootings, groan- 
ings, and even more alarming expressions of hostility, 
with unblenched cheek, with a bold front, with unquiv- 
ering voice, and with that aspect of cool, calm resolve 
which commands the respect of the strong and cows the 
weak. 

The language of the platform should be at once simple 
and forcible, pictorial, but unornamented. Choose the 
most familiar words, and prefer such as most powerfully 
express your meaning. You must not be too fearful of 
the accusation of coarseness, always brought by feeble 
speakers against their more successful rivals. If your 
ideas are not coarse, you may be content to incur the 
charge of coarseness in words, provided they convey your 
meaning accurately, are clearly comprehended by your 
audience, and write upon their minds the impression you 
desire to make there. The object of oratory is not to 
display yourself but to persuade others, and that is the 
right manner of using it which does its work most effect- 



288 The Oratory of the Platform. 

ively. He is the best workman who can adapt his tools 
to the materials he is moulding. This also is not to be 
forgotten ; that while refined phrases are understood only 
by the educated few, common words are understood by 
all. By the former you win the ears of a portion only of " 
j r our audience ; by the latter you command the attention 
and impart your thoughts to the minds of the whole 
assembly. 



letter X1LF* 

THE OBATOBY OF THE PLATFOBM {CONTINUED). 

The oratory of the platform comprises many classes of 
oratory, having certain features in common but also pos- 
sessing other characteristic traits peculiar to themselves. 
In my last letter I endeavored to describe the points on 
which they agreed ; my present purpose is to trace the 
points on which they differ. I have treated of platform 
oratory in general, and the most convenient course will 
be now to consider eadh of its principal phases sepa- 
rately. 

The first of these is the ordinary " public meeting," 
held for any public purpose, religious, charitable, paro- 
chial, or political. With few and very slight adaptations, 
the hints that apply to one of them will apply to all, ex- 
cepting, perhaps, to religious and charitable meetings, 
which require a special train of thought conveyed in a 
certain conventional diction. Another marked distinc- 
tion is to be observed upon platforms when ladies are 



The Oratory of the Platform. 289 

expected to be an important portion of the audience. 
These are subdivisions only of the class, and therefore 
I propose to take the various kinds of assembly in order 
of complexity, beginning with meetings not usually 
honored by the presence of bonnets. 

The parish meeting will include every public meeting 
of the same nature, — free assemblies open to all comers, 
for the expression of opinion upon the subject it is sum- 
moned to consider. Local affairs are the most frequent 
business of vestries, municipalities, and such like. Holden 
for the transaction of business, generalities, platitudes, 
and declamatory eloquence are out of place. You must 
address the meeting in a business-like fashion, merely 
talking upon your legs, strictly limiting your talk to the 
matter in hand and saying what you have to say in the 
fewest words. You will not thus obtain the fame of an 
orator, but you will win the more useful reputation among 
your neighbors of being a sensible man, whose speech 
is worth listening to, and a man of business, whose advice 
is worth taking. Eschew the oratorical in matter and 
manner ; study simplicity in language and in style ; put 
your arguments very plainly, and above all, come well 
prepared with your facts and figures. These, you will 
say, are somewhat difficult conditions. They are so, and 
accordingly they are infrequently fulfilled. They who 
have never tried it think that anybody who can open his 
lips upstanding could make a speech good enough for a 
parish meeting ; but they will find it to be otherwise in 
practice, and as the personal advantages of capacity in 
this class of speaking are very great to all, but especially 
to a professional man seeking advancement in the world, 
it will well repay some study on your part. 

19 



290 The Oratory of the Platform. 

The difficulty is precisely that which attaches to all 
endeavors to be natural. It is much more difficult to be 
plain than to be ornate, to be simple than to be artificial, 
to be what you are than what you are not. Savagery 
delights in tinsel ; it is the last triumph of civilization to 
bring us back to nature. 

Political meetings and quasi political meetings require 
a different treatment ; but, to avoid repetition, I will 
reserve them for consideration of the subjects to which 
they are mainly allied, and pass to the assemblies of 
which ladies usually form the most considerable part. 

Religious, charitable, and social meetings have a plat- 
form oratory of their own, brought probably to their 
present fashion by the fact that the majority of the 
hearers are of the sex whom the speaker is most desirous 
to please, and to whose tastes and capacities he more or 
less consciously moulds his discourse. 

There is a specialty in the religious meetings of which 
it is not my design to treat ; but of whose existence you 
must be informed, or you will come to grief should you 
venture an address to one of them. 

Their language is singularly conventional. They have 
a phraseolog}^ of their own that is almost unintelligible 
to the uninitiated. It is the very opposite of simplicity. 
A considerable portion of their vocabulaiy differs from 
the language of common life. There are two words, and 
only two, that express it ; but I am reluctant to use them, 
because they have come to be employed in an offensive 
sense, and I do not by any means design or desire to 
imply ridicule or reproach. Suffice it to say, that in the 
religious meeting this phraseology performs the same office 
as slang in the sporting world and patter among the gip- 



The Oratory of the Platform. 291 

sies ; it has come to convey more readily and more 
accurately to the initiated ideas which the speaker 
seeks to convey than does the language of daily life. 
It is almost a condition of success in such gatherings 
that the platform should resound with these conventional 
phrases. 

Another characteristic of such meetings is a certain 
grave humor, which has been growing into fashion for 
some time past and now reigns supreme. Gravity by 
no means distinguishes the orators at religious meetings ; 
on the contrary, a grave man, who never said a funny 
thing to make his audience laugh, would be voted a 
bore; and in this you will see another striking illustra- 
tion of a remark I have had occasion to make more than 
once, — that the gravest moments, when the most serious 
subjects are in progress, are precisely those at which we 
are the most easily moved to laughter ; the philosophical 
reason for which is, that humor, which is the provoca- 
tive of laughter, is a keen sense of the contrast between 
two very dissimilar ideas unexpectedly presented to the 
mind. 

With these additions, the oratory of the platform at 
mixed meetings requires the same qualifications, and is 
to be cultivated in the same manner, as for most other 
meetings composed of both sexes, and in treating of their 
characteristics I shall be compelled somewhat to sacrifice 
gallantry to truth. 

If I were to advise you to address your discourse to 
the men, and not to the women, who are seated before 
your platform, I am sure you would not adopt ray advice, 
and therefore I will assume the actual instead of the ideal 
state of a platform orator, and direct my hints to helping 



292 The Oratory of the Platform. 

you in the situation in which you will find yourself in 
practice. 

You may now declaim to your heart's content. The 
less of argument the better. You must not hope to con- 
vince, but only to persuade ; for women — and men with 
woman-like minds — always mistake feeling for convic- 
tion and faith for belief. Your appeal must be to the 
emotions. Argument should not be attempted, or it 
should be so presented as to be utterly illogical in 
substance and shape. You may indulge with perfect 
safety in the most transparent fallacies, especially if they 
fall in with the prejudices of your audience. Introduce 
as many anecdotes as possible, for the purpose of illus- 
trating your assertions ; nothing so tells with a mixed 
audience, especially if you point the moral with the 
assumption that the one case proves th£ whole. If, for 
instance, it is your purpose to abuse an entire class of 
persons, tell a story of something which you once saw 
done by some one member of that class, and boldty draw 
the inference that therefore the whole class is equally 
hateful, or as the case may be. Thus you are sure to 
carry with you the minds of the unreasoning part of your 
audience, always the vast majority of them. The lan- 
guage of your speech cannot be too poetical : scatter 
flowers without stint, — they are sure to be taken for 
flights of the grandest eloquence. The substance of what 
you say is not of so much importance as the form in 
which you say it. Nonsense, that flows in a full swell 
from the lips in rounded periods with fine phrases that 
roll into and fill the ears, will surely be accepted with 
pleasure and elicit a chorus of applause. An occasional 
laugh is effective ; but far more telling is an occasional 



The Oratory of the Platform. 293 

touch of the pathetic, especially if expressed in the tones 
of pathos. Freight your froth with a moral reflection by 
way of ballast, and flavor it with a sentiment now and 
then ; it needs not to be new ; on the contrary, the more 
nearly it approaches a truism, the more readily will it be 
understood. 

There is some art in mingling these ingredients so as 
not to offend by excess of quantity, always more danger- 
ous than defect in quality. On the slightest intimation 
that your audience are growing weary of one strain, start 
them upon another, and, if possible, an opposite one. 
Call them from long-continued gravity by a timely jest, 
and recall them from laughter to seriousness by plunging 
into your soberest themes. Wonderful is the effect of 
contrast in heightening the opposite emotions and thus 
rekindling the flagging attention. 

Perhaps you will say that these are unworthy arts. 
They may be so ; but they are not the less necessary 
to success. It is useless to make a speech unless you 
can thereby influence either the opinions, the feelings, 
or the actions, of your hearers ; if you do not choose to 
adopt the means by which this object can be effected, you 
have no right to complain of failure. Argument, however 
able, is wasted upon those who cannot comprehend it ; 
the best intentions will not induce an audience to lend 
their ears to a dull discourse, badly delivered. The arts 
requisite to the attainment of your purpose are not in 
themselves censurable ; and, if you deem them unworthy, 
it should be because you feel yourself to be above the 
part you are compelled to perform. You should not 
attempt to address such an audience, unless you are 
prepared to bring yourself down to the level of their 



^94 The Oratory of the Platform. 

intelligence ; but, having resolved to address them, you 
must talk after their fashion, and not according to your 
own ideal of something better and loftier. Indeed, this 
rule extends to all oratory. There is no compulsion upon 
you to make a speech ; if you cannot conform to the 
character of your audience, you have the remedy in your 
own hands by refusal to depart from your own standard 
of good sense or good taste ; but, having resolved to 
appear upon the platform, play your part properly, 
according to the work to be done and the materials upon 
which you work, and submit, if not cheerfully yet thor- 
oughly, to the conditions by which alone success is 
practicable. 

Nor will the exercise be without benefit to you. To 
unbend, to come down from the high regions of pure 
reason and place yourself on a level with common minds 
— to be unwise now and then — even to put on the cap 
and bells for the amusement of women and small-minded 
men — is not altogether time wasted. Something is to 
be learned from contact with your fellow-creatures, that 
will often serve to filter philosophy and make wisdom 
practical. You will return to the lofty region of your 
meditations, refreshed by the relaxation and with a new 
page added to your knowledge of human nature. It is 
not a very noble one that is revealed in such gatherings 
as those for commanding whose applause I have here 
endeavored to give you some hints ; but it is, perhaps, 
the most extensive of any, for it is the exhibition of the 
commonplace mind, in the condition in which it is most 
open to observation. 



, The Oratory of the Platform. 295 
better £HF3L 

THE OBATOBY OF THE PLATFOBlf (COXTIXUED.) 

I will now ask you to accompany me to the public 
meeting, properly so called, to which not only are all 
classes invited, but to which they come. Let us see how 
these should be treated from the platform. 

Occasionally, some topic of local interest will gather 
together an assemblage representing the whole popula- 
tion ; but the true public meeting is seldom evoked for 
any but political purposes. At all events, a political 
meeting, and especially an election, is the typical assem- 
bly that will most conveniently illustrate the hints I am 
ab^ut to offer to you for the cultivation of that most 
important branch of platform oratory. If I treat of it 
with more minuteness of detail than I have devoted to 
some other parts of the subject, it is because experience 
has proved to me the great importance of proficiency in 
this art, especially to the members of our profession, who, 
more than any others, are called upon to exercise it. At 
political meetings, the lawyers are alwaj^s expected to be 
the speakers, and are so. Their fellow-citizens assume it 
to be their business to talk, and therefore look to them as 
the proper mouthpieces of a meeting A solicitor in the 
provinces can scarcely avoid the leadership of a part}' 
and the conduct of the elections. He cannot properly 
discharge the duties of these posts of honor and influ- 
ence, unless he can make a tolerable speech at a public 
meeting ; and the more his skill in the management of a 



296 The Oratory of the Platform. 

popular assembly, the greater his power, the higher his 
position, and the more valuable his services. 

The art of platform oratory is not less useful to the 
barrister. If you should not be called upon to act on be- 
half of other candidates, I hope you may at some time 
hereafter be required to exercise the art in that character 
on 3^our own account, and then you will find it to be of 
equal service to yourself. It is because I have had exten- 
sive experience in both characters, and have gained such 
knowledge of it as I possess in the rough school of perso- 
nal encounter with these characteristic assemblies, that 
I venture to impart to j t ou the result of that experience. 

To speak plainly, then, this class of public meeting is a 
mob; no other word so properly describes it; the speak- 
ing that alone will succeed with it is mob-oratory. 

You must not shrink from this title because it is often 
used reproachfully by those who are unable to accomplish 
it. The name of u mob orator" is always given to a 
speaker who can really influence a miscellaneous meeting. 
If you cannot bear with it, you should make up your 
mind at once to retreat from the pursuit of ambition in 
public or political life. To succeed, you must submit to 
the conditions of success. Your object is to sway the 
minds of those whom 3^011 address ; to do this you must 
speak in such manner as most moves them, and what- 
ever name is given to that manner you must accept with- 
out shame, or resign the objects you are seeking. But 
though the name of " mob orator " is of ill repute, the 
evil is in the name onty ; there is nothing in the character 
necessarily dishonorable or degrading. The art is an 
honest art, provided only that it be not applied to dishon- 
est ends. No man has cause to be ashamed of swaying 



The Oratory of the Platform. 297 

the minds of his fellow-men, even though they may be 
called " a mob." Persuasion is as permissible an in- 
strument wherewith to move men as argument, and an 
appeal to the feelings is often as righteous as an address 
to the reason. If the utterance of sentiment and emotion 
is not so lofty an exercise of the intellect as the putting 
forth of logic, there is in it nothing degrading, either to 
the mind that speaks or to the ear that listens. It is 
simply an adaptation of means to the end. 

Understand me, that I use the word " mob" only foi 
brevity's sake, and because I can find no other word that 
so nearly expresses my meaning. But you must not read 
it in quite the popular sense. As commonly used, it im- 
plies a disorderly assembly ; I use it as describing a mis- 
cellaneous gathering of all classes, but in which the lower 
classes predominate. The tone of such a meeting is 
therefore necessarily given b} r the most numerous section 
of it ; and, although the most cultivated miuds leaven it 
more or less, according to the proportion they bear to the 
whole crowd, the general character of the mass will al- 
ways be caught from the character of the predominant 
class. 

Here it is that you may witness the most striking proofs 
of the power of sympathy. No observant and reflecting 
man can doubt the presence and potency of this influence 
of mind upon mind, operating through some unknown 
medium within certain undefined limits. The proofs are 
rife in the records of the past, and may be seen around us 
continually. It is an influence to which, as it appears to 
me, sufficient importance has not been given either hy 
historians or philosophers, and its presence would proba- 
bly be found to solve many problems otherwise inexplica- 



298 The Oratory of the Platform. 

ble. That influence seems to be exercised by mere con 
tact, without communication through the five senses, and 
to be multiplied by numbers, so that the emotions of all 
are imparted to each. This would explain the entire se- 
ries of those perplexing phenomena which are seen in' 
popular frenzies, delusions, and manias, and of which a 
panic will offer the most intelligible explanation. It is a 
fact that fear is thus communicated by some impercepti- 
ble influence. An incident that would not cause the 
nerves of one man to quiver, will make ten men turn pale, 
annihilate the courage of twenty men, cause a hundred 
men to run away, and deprive a thousand men of reason. 
What is this, but fear operating by multiplication of fear? 
The small fright felt by each influences all the rest by 
sympathy, and the result is that the accumulated fear of 
the entire mass imparts itself to each individual of it, and 
causes the terror that is not the less real because it is un- 
founded. Precisely the same operation that produces 
panic is ever at work in all mixed assemblies, swaying 
them by other emotions, and so great is this influence 
that even the most powerful intellects that are habitually 
under the sway of reason find resistance very difficult. 

I have enlarged upon this subject because the knowl- 
edge of it will conduce greatly to success upon the plat- 
form. This fact is the foundation of mob-oratory ; you 
will not sway a mixed assembly unless you take into ac- 
count that power of sympathy. You will, I hope, clearly 
understand what I mean by it when the term is here 
used. 

What, then, is the character of the assembly thus 
strangely influenced ? 

In the first place, it is almost wholly impulsive. It is 



The Oratory of the Platform. 299 

governed entirely by its feelings. Reason has scarcely a 
perceptible control over it. Argument, such as the 
trained intellect recognizes and obeys, is of no avail. 

Consequently you must address yourself to its emo- 
tions. What is their charcter ? 

To the honor of human nature be it said, that the emotions 
of a multitude — of men in masses — are almost always 
right, as their judgment is almost always wrong. Even 
if they fall into wrong acts, these are usually the results 
of right feelings. Some generous or noble sentiment will 
be found to underlie emotions that bear the aspect of 
malevolence, and to be the parent of passions that are 
demoniacal in their issues. 

It has been noticed in the penny theatres, frequented 
by the population that feeds our jails, that a noble, a 
generous, or an honest sentiment never fails to evoke a 
burst of applause. Vice receives no honor even from the 
vicious, who cheer the virtue they will not practise. A 
play that did not end with the punishment of vice and the 
reward of virtue would be hooted from the boards patron- 
ized by the criminal class ! 

A mob has a large measure of self-esteem, — as if proud 
of the power of numbers. The humblest person feels his 
self-importance swell by association ; he is not conscious 
of his individual insignificance in the crowd. 

An English mob possesses, to a marked degree, the 
English sense of humor. It is readily tickled to laughter, 
and often its swelling wrath may be turned aside by a ju- 
dicious jest. But it is by humor, not by wit, that a mob 
is moved. The keenest zvit would be unappreciated, be- 
cause it is not understood. Humor never fails. 

A mob is usually good-tempered, perhaps always so, 



300 The Oratory of the Platform. 

save where the very object of the meeting is to give ex- 
pression to evil emotions previously engendered. Be- 
ware, then, how you run counter to the passion of the 
moment. If you would avert it, you must fall in with it, 
that you may guide it. Admit the grievance, acknowl- 
edge the justice of that indignation, but suggest some 
other redress. Perfect good-temper on your part will go 
far to insure good-temper on the part of your audience. 
Let no provocation induce you for one moment to lose your 
temper. Meet hootings with a smile and parry abuse 
with a jest ; if there is disturbance, be calm and composed, 
fold your arms, and await patiently the return of order, 
without the slightest expression of vexation or alarm. 
Soon you will find the majority of the meeting enlisted in 
your support and compelling the disorderly minority to 
silence or expulsion. I have never known this to fail, 
even amid the tempest that usually rages around the hust- 
ings at an election. 

If there be a show of violence, make no show of fear. 
A mob is very cowardly ; it is wholly wanting in moral 
courage, and it can boast but of little physical courage, 
because it has no cohesion nor mutual reliance. Happily 
the multiplication of emotion, which makes its passions 
so formidable, does not extend to its acts. It wants the 
capacity for effective action ; it has no unity, no organiza- 
tion, no confidence ; it is disintegrated, and each individ- 
ual atom of which it is composed is compelled to look 
only to himself, not being assured whether his neighbors 
will not desert him in his need. A firm front, a bold eye, 
a brave bearing on your part, will not only strike a kind 
of awe into the offenders, but certainly command the re- 
spect of the many, who feel a strong sympathy with these 



The Oratory of the Platform. 301 

qualities, wherever shown, and enlist a support that will 
effectually protect you from the threatened violence. They 
will even shame the furious from their intent. I have seen 
the mob drop the stones they had lifted to throw, and 
greet with an enthusiastic cheer the man whom they had 
failed to terrify. 

This being the characteristic of an English mob, such 
as you will have to encounter at political gatherings, 
and especially at elections, you will readily learn how to 
deal with it. 

The inexperienced imagine that a mob will prefer an 
orator who descends to its own level and talks to it after 
its own fashion. This is a grave mistake. A mob likes 
best the speaker who stands above his audience, and keeps 
above them. To talk down to them is condescension, 
than which nothing is more obnoxious. The loftier the 
orator the more gratifying to the assembly is his deference 
to them. Moreover, an English mob has the English love 
of aristocracy ; as a mob they do not relish orators of 
their own class ; they prefer to listen to a gentleman, 
and if he bears a title, so much the more is he welcome. 
Successful mob-oratory, therefore, by no means implies 
vulgarity, or coarseness of speech or of manner. On the 
contrary, put on your grandest manner and speak in your 
loftiest style ; but with this proviso, that your language 
is not too fine. In the progress of these epistles I have 
had such frequent occasion to urge upon you the avoid- 
ance of learned language, and the preference of plain 
English for the transmission of your thoughts to others, 
that I fear to weary you by repetition ; but if it be a use- 
ful hint for addressing even select assemblies, it is a ne- 
cessity for successful speaking to a mob. You may do so 



302 The Oratory of the Platform. 

without lapsing into vulgarity, for it is the glory of our 
English tongue — and perhaps we are indebted to it for 
much of the power of the British nation — that the 
thoughts of the wise may not only be clothed, but con- 
veyed with accuracy and force, in the language of the 
common people. 



better XIFIL 

OBATOBY OF THE PLATFOBM {CONCLUDED). 

The speaker who can influence a mob is usually stig- 
matized, by those who are unable to do so, as a demagogue. 
It is well to be advised of this probable consequence of 
successful platform oratory, that you may be prepared to 
meet and defy it. But true demagogism consists, not in 
the use of those arts of oratory by which an assembly is 
moved, — not in saying in the most effective manner that 
which you desire to say, and may with honor say, — but 
in saying that which is not your sincere opinion, or which 
you do not verily believe, for the purpose of insuring 
applause and support. If yoxx are honest with your 
audience, you may rightfully express your honest thoughts 
in any fashion that will best secure for them a welcome ; 
but if you seek to lure by the utterance of that which is 
not your faith, you play the demagogue, and that justly 
odious title is then properly affixed to yon. 

The manner of mob oratory should, like the matter of 
it, be bold, confident, and energetic. You must feel the 



The Oratory of the Platform. 303 

most perfect self-confidence and show it ; you must speak 
out with the full compass of your voice, throw all your 
power — mental and physical — into the effort, and employ 
emphatic action. Let there be no appearance of hesitation 
for thoughts or words ; go on ; say something, sense or 
nonsense, anything rather than seem perplexed. An 
English mob is peculiarly sensitive to whatever savors of 
the ludicrous, and quick to seize upon weaknesses and 
turn them to ridicule. A public meeting at an election 
time licenses every wag in the crowd to let off a joke at 
your expense, and he is not slow to avail himself of the 
opportunity. Never wince under it ; or, at least, if it 
pricks you, do not show that you are hit. If you have 
sufficient self-possession, join in the laugh and laughingly 
turn the jest upon the jester. This leaves you master of 
the field, and his discomfiture will deter those in the 
crowd who are always ready to follow the lead. 

The kind of interruptions with which you are liable to 
be visited by the irreverent jesters who form part of every 
mob are exhibited in the admirable description of the 
election in " Pickwick. " The gentleman with a weak 
voice is advised by one in the crowd " to send home and 
inquire if he had left his voice under the pillow ; " and the 
mayor is interrupted by a shout of " Success to his wor- 
ship the mayor, and may he never forget the tin and 
sarsepan business as he has got his fortun' by." These 
are not exaggerations of the fun you will have to face at 
an election, and you must be prepared to receive it with 
good humor. 

Speak out. Speak up. Do not wait for the significant 
shout that will come to yow if you speak small. Not only 
is your power over a crowd dependent upon your being 



304 The Oratory of the Platform. 

heard, but a full, clear voice has a power of its own, apart 
from the tEoughts which it conveys. It creates an im« 
pression of reality and earnestness ; it commands atten- 
tion, and the mind itself is more readily reached through 
the full ear. 

And this is a fit occasion for a few hints on oratory in 
the open air. 

Most persons find this very difficult of accomplishment, 
very trying to the lungs, and very crazing, indeed, to the 
voice. Beginners usually speak from a window, or from 
a hustings, in the same tones as they use in a room. 
They are immediateh r put out by finding that the sounds 
they have sent forth seem to be swallowed up in space, 
and that no echo of them comes back to their ears. 
Consequently they are in utter ignorance how far off they 
have been heard. If not unpleasantly informed by the 
usual cry of " Speak out," from beyond the favored 
circle in the foreground, the unpractised orator has no 
means whatever of measuring his fire. In either case, he 
strains his voice to the utmost, with still the same un- 
pleasant sensation that it is lost. Louder and louder ; 
still no echo ; then pain ; then hoarseness, which will not 
be cured for days. But when you speak in the open air, 
there is no echo ; your voice will be heard just as far as 
you can throw it, and no further, and it will grow fainter 
as the distance grows, until the words die away in inarticu- 
late murmurs. Nature has given great variety of powers 
of voice, and if the vocal organs have not been framed for 
it, no training will create power. But the voice may be 
vastly strengthened by judicious exercise, under instruc- 
tion, and in a former letter I have thrown out some 
suggestions for educating it. Besides the compass of the 



The Oratory of the Platform. 305 

voice, there is a great deal in its management. Mere 
loudness will not suffice for the open air, and straining 
will never succeed. At the moment the effort becomes 
painful, the voice loses in force, and a sense of pain is the 
best warning that you have trespassed beyond your 
capacities. On the instant that the sensation occurs, 
moderate your tones, relax the exertion, and rather close 
your speech than continue it at such risk of injury to your 
voice. 

But mere loudness will not make the voice audible in 
the open air more than in a room. You will be heard 
further by help of clearness and fulness of sound, and, 
more than all, by very distinct articulation. You should 
speak slowly, looking at the most distant of the assembly, 
• and the voice addressed to them, even if they should be 
beyond its reach, will fall upon the furthest ear to which 
its capacities can extend. Here, also, it is of the utmost 
importance that you should use the upward inflection ; 
that is, that you should raise the voice at every pause or 
close of a sentence, instead of lowering it. 

In open-air speaking it is impossible to employ the del- 
icate variety of tones so effective in a room, where the 
voice ma}' be lowered almost to a whisper without being 
lost to the audience, for the degree of loudness necessary 
to be exercised where there is no echo to help you forbids 
the expression of more than the ruder tones of emotion, 
and these must be somewhat exaggerated to be effective. 
Consequently, action is especially demanded on such oc- 
casions. When the great orator of the ancients placed 
action as the foremost, and, indeed, almost the only, rule 
he could prescribe for oratory, he had in his mind the 
open-air assemblies to which alone he was accustomed. 
20 



306 The Oratory of the Platform. 

Thus limited, the saying is more true than it appears 
when applied to the oratory usually required in the less 
genial atmosphere of the North. But when you speak in 
the open air, you are under the conditions assumed by him, 
and you should resort to action liberally, both in quantity 
and quality. Not only should there be much of it, but it 
may be what in a room would be called exaggeration and 
bad taste. To the mass of your audience it is like an in- 
terpretation of your words ; to the illiterate it is more 
readily intelligible than words. By attracting the eye it 
keeps dull minds awake, and secures attention, — an effort 
to which the common mind is not easily induced. The 
expression " beating a speech into them " has a truth in it. 
And for the matter of your speech, it should be thorough. 
A mob cannot understand refined distinctions ; it does 
not relish half-heartedness ; it hates qualifications and 
hesitations. Go with them or go against them, but you 
must not halt half-way. Be very earnest. Their per- 
ceptions are marvellously keen ; they can detect hollow- 
ness by a sort of instinct, and, although they do not 
express the suspicion by outward gesture, you will see 
by their manner that you have not carried them with you. 
There is- at least one satisfactory characteristic of a mob, 
— it is thoroughly honest. If it approves, it is with no 
half applause ; if it dissents from you, it plainly tells you 
so. Its cheers and hisses alike mean what they say, and 
as they are given without reserve, you are left in no 
doubt as to the effect of your speech. This is very 
pleasant after the silence of some cold and' critical 
audience, from whose hands or lips you cannot gather 
whether you have contented or displeased them. The 
expression of undisguised applause by a crowd is an 



The Oratory of the Platform. 307 

intoxicating sensation which, however the sober man may 
despise it, is certainly a pleasure that will not be lightly 
esteemed by those who have tasted of it. 

It is singiiiar that the best specimen of mob-oratory 
which the world possesses should be the product of the 
creative genius of a dramatist. But so it is. Shake- 
speare has given to us, among his many marvellous 
inspirations, two speeches supposed to be addressed to 
mobs, each in its way admirable, but one of them having 
consummate excellence. In Julius Ccesar he has intro- 
duced two orations, by men of very different characters, 
having different aims : one designed to subdue, the other 
to excite, the passions of the audience ; the one all 
honesty, the other all art. The scene follows imme- 
diately upon the death of Caesar by the daggers of the 
assassins, of whom Brutus was the chief. The mob are 
hesitating whether to applaud the patriotism that had 
killed a tyrant, or to condemn the daggers that had de- 
stroyed an admired and honored emperor. Whether the 
current of this wavering mood was to be turned to 
applause or wrath would depend upon the skilful man- 
agement of those who might address them. Both were 
men held in high esteem by the populace, but for dif- 
ferent qualities : Brutus for his known honesty, frankness, 
and patriotism ; Antony for his persuasiveness, his flat- 
tery, his lavishness, and the charm that youth carries with 
it. -Brutus was upon his defence, although no accuser had 
appeared ; he had killed Caesar, and he aimed to justify 
the deed to those who had been Caesar's votaries. They 
were still hesitating between the man and the act ; he 
sought to satisfy them that he had done the deed un- 
selfishly, for the salvation of their liberties. His case 



308 The Oratory of the Platform. 

was plain and straightforward, and thus he plainly set it 
before them. It is perfect for its purpose. I have, as 
before, indicated by italics, capitals, and dashes, the man- 
ner in which it should be read, beginning with a loud, 
firm voice, and preserving throughout the tone and man- 
ner of unbending dignity. 



" Romans countrymen and lovers 1 Jiear 

me for my cause and be silent that you may hear 

Believe me for mine honor and \i2l\q respect 

to mine honor that you may believe Censure me 

in 3'our wisdom and awake your senses that you 

may the better judge If there be any in this as- 
sembly any dear friend of Caesar's to him I 

say, that Brutus' love to Ccesar was no less than his 

If then that friend demand why Brutus rose 

against Caesar this is my answer Not that 

I loved Caesar less but that I loved Home more 

Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all 

slaves than that Caesar were dead, to live all 

free men ? As Caesar loved me 1 iveep for him 

as he was fortunate I rejoice at it as 

he was valiant 1 honor him but as he was 

ambitious 1 SLEW him There are tears for 

his love joy for his fortune honor for his valor 

and DEATH for his ambition Who 

is here so base that would be a bondman ? If any 

speak for him have I offended 

Who is here so rude that would not be a Roman ? 

If any speak for him have I offended 

Who is here so vile that will not love his country? 



The Oratory of the Platform. 309 
- If any speak for him have I 



offended. 1 pause for a reply. 

" Citizens, None, Brutus, none. 

"Brutus. Then NONE have I offended 1 

have done no more to Cesar than you should do to 

Brutus The question of his death is enrolled in 

the Capitol his glory not extenuated, wherein he 

was worthy nor his offences enforced, for which he 

has suffered death Here conies his body — mourned 

by Mark Antony who though he had no hand in 

his death, shall receive the benefit of his ctying a place 

in the commonwealth as which of you shall not ? 

With this I depart that as I slew my best 

lover for the good of Rome 1 have the same dagger 

for myself when it shall please my country to need 

my death." 

This plain, manly speech had the effect designed ; it 
turned the tide of popular feeling, which forthwith began 
to flow in full flood in favor of the orator and his par- 
ty. The citizens were excited to enthusiasm. They 
shout, — 



" Citizens. Live Brutus live live ! 

1st Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

2d Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors I 

3d Cit. Let him be Ccesar. 

ith Cit. Caesar's better parts 

Shall now be crown'd in Brutus ! 

1st Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors. 

'Brutus. My countrymen 

2d Cit. Peace silence 

Brutus speaks ! 



310 The Oratory of the Platform. 

1st Cit. Peace, ho ! 

Brutus. Good countrymen let me depart alone; 

And for my sake stay here with Antony 

Do grace to Ccssar's corpse and grace his speech 

Tending to CtBsar's glories which Mark Antony 

By our permission is allowed to make 

I do entreat you not a man depart 

Save 1" alone till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 

1st Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony ! 

3d Cit. Let him go up into the public chair 

We'll hear him Xoble Antony go up ! 

Ant. For Brutus' sake I am beholden to you. 

Uh Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 

3d Cit. He says for Brutus* sake 

He finds himself beholden to U3 ALL. 

ith Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

1st Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 

3d Cit. Nay, that's certain; 

We are bless' 'd that Rome it rid of him. 

2d Cit. Peace Let us hear what Antony can say. 

Ant. You gentle Romans 

Cit, Peace, ho ! let us hear him." 



This was the unfriendly and even prejudiced mob 
which Antony was to address. Observe how artfully he 
begins with an endeavor to conciliate them so far as to 
give him a hearing ; how he falls in with the current of 
their humor, and goes with it, that he may guide it. 
Every part of this marvellous address will reward your 
careful stud}' ; its art is unrivalled ; there is nothing like 
it upon record, nor in the whole range of fiction could 
its equal be found. It is a model of platform oratory. 
He begins in a low voice, with tones expressing profound 
grief, and a manner showing extreme deference to the 
assembly around him. He is about to appeal from their 



The Orato?y of the Platform. 311 

love for their country to their love for the man whose 
bleeding corpse was then lying at his side. 



" Friends Romans COUNTRYMEN lend me youi 



I come to bury Caesar not to praise him - 

The evil that men do lives after them 

The good is oft interred with their bones - 



So let it be with Caesar The noble Brutus 

Hath told you Caesar was ambitious 

If it were so it was a grievous fault 

And grievously hath Caesar answered it 



Here under leave of Brutus and the rest > 

(For Brutus is an honorable man 

So are they all all honorable men) — — 

Come I to speak in Ccesar's funeral 

He was my friend faithful zxi&just to me — 

But Brutus says he was ambitious 

And Brutus is an honorable man 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill ■ 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 

W r hen that the poor have cried Caesar hath wept — — 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

You all did see that on the Lupercal 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown 

Which he did thrice refuse Was THIS AMBITION ? - 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious 

And sure he is an honorable man 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke 

But here I am to speak what I do KNOW 

You all did love him once not without cause ■ 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? — 
judgment — thou art fled to brutish beasts 

And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me — 

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar 

And I must pause till it come back to me n 



312 The Oratory of the Platform. 

At this point of pause, artfully introduced, the mob 
exhibits signs of being swayed by the speaker, — they are 
beginning to veer round again. 

" 1st Cit, Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings, 

2d Cit, If thou consider rightly of the matter, Caesar had great wrong 

3d Cit, Has he, masters ? — 

I fear there will a worse come in his place. 

ith Cit. Marked ye his words? he would not take the crown—* — 

Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious 

1st Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 

2d Cit. Poor soul his eyes are red aspire with weeping. 

3d Cit. There's not a nobler man in Home than Antony. 

ith Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak." 

The orator perceives the impression he has made, and 
now addresses himself to their great love for his friend, 
and the memory of Caesar's former greatness. His tones 
express profound emotion. 

" But yesterday the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world NOW lies he there — 

And none so poor to do him reverence 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage 

1 should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong 

Who — you all know — are honorable men 

I will not do them wrong I rather choose 

To wrong the dead to wrong myself' and you 

Than I will wrong such honorable men 

But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar — 

1 found it in his closet 'tis his WILL 

Let but the commons hear this testament 

Which pardon me 1 do not mean to read 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds — 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood 

Yea beg a hair of him for memory 

And — dying — mention it within their wills 



The Oratory of the Platform. 313 

Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 

Unto their issue. 

ith Cit. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. 

Cit. The will — the will we will hear Caesar's will. 

Ant . Have patience — gentle friends 1 must not read it — — 

It is not meet you know how Caesar lov J d you 

You are not wood you are not stones but men — — 

And being MEN hearing the will of Cesar 

It will inflame you — — it will make you mad 

'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs 

For — if you should — oh, what would come of it ! 

Uh Cit. Read the will — we will hear it, Antony 

You shall read us the will Caesar's will. 

Ant. Will you be patient ? Will you stay awhile ? 

I have o'er shot myself to tell you of it 

I fear 1 wrong the honorable men 

Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar 1 do fear it. «■ 

. ith Cit. They were traitors honorable men 

Cit. The will the testament. 

• 2d Cit. They were villains murderers The will read the 

will ! 

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will ? 

Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar 

And let me show you him that made the will — — 

Shall I descend ? and will you give me leave ? 

Cit. Come down ! 

2d Cit. Descend ! 

3d Cit. You shall have leave. 

ith Cit. A ring stand round. 

1st Cit. Stand from the hearse stand from the body. 

2d Cit. Room for Antony most noble Antony. 

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me stand far off. 

Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 

Antony. If you have tears prepare to shed them now 

You — all — do know this mantle 1 remember 

The first time ever Caesar put it on 

'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent 

That day he overcame the Nervii ■ 

Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through — 

See what a rent the envious Casca made 



314 The Oratory of the Platform. 

Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed 

And — as he plucked his CURSED steel away 

Mark ■— — how the blood of Csesar followed it 
As rushing out of doors to be resolved 

If Brutus so unkindly knocked or no 

For Brutus as you know was Caesar's angel — 

Judge ! you gods — how dearly Caesar loved him 

This was the most unkindest cut of all 

For when the noble Caesar saw HIM stab 

Ingratitude more strong than traitors' arms 

Quite vanquished him then burst his mighty heart ; 

And in his mantle muffling up his/ace 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue 

Which all the while run blood great Caesar FELL — 

Oh what a fall was there my countrymen 

Then / and you and all of us fell down 

"Whilst bloody treason flourished over us 

Oh — now you weep and I perceive you feel 

The dint of pity these are gracious drops 

Kind souls what weep you when you but behold 

Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here 

Here is HIMSELF marred as you see by TRAIT- 
ORS 

1st Cit. piteous spectacle ! 

2c? Cit. noble Caesar ! 

3d Cit. wofuldsiyl 

ith Cit. traitors — VILLAINS ! 

1st Cit. most bloody sight ! 

2d Cit. We will be revenged — — revenge about — seek — burn — 

fire — kill — slay let not a traitor live. 

Ant. Stay countrymen. 

1st Cit. Peace there hear the noble Antony 

2d Cit. We'll hear him — we'll follow him we'll die with him. — 

Ant. Good friends sweet friends let me not stir you up 

To such a sudden flood of Mutiny 

They that have done this deed are honorable 

What private griefs they have alas ! — /know not — 

That made them do it they are wise and honorable 

And will — no doubt «— with reasons answer you 

I come not friends to steal away your hearts 



Social Oratory. 315 



l am no orator as Brutus is 

But as you know me all — a — plain blunt man — 

That love my friend and that tney know full well 

That gave me public leave to speak of him 

For i" have neither wit nor words nor worth 

Action nor utterance nor the power of speech 

To stir men's blood / only speak right on 

I tell you that which you yourselves do know 

Show you sweet Caesar 1 s wounds poor poor dumb MOUTHS - 

And bid them speak for me But were 2" Brutus 

And Brutus Antony there were an Antony 

Would ruffle up your spirits — and put a tongue 

In every wound of CLesar that should make 

The STONES of Home to rise and mutiny." 



Hetter S3LFOI. 

SOCIAL OB A TOBY. 

I come now to that which, until you have tried it, 
appears the easiest of all forms of oratory, but which is 
in truth the most difficult of all, and to which I propose 
to give the significant name of social oratory, meaning 
by that the speech-makings that are addressed to small 
parties assembled, not for business, but for festive or 
other social purposes, the large proportion of which is 
demanded at one kind of gathering, said to be so pecu- 
liarly English that the title of " dinner-table oratory" 
might have been given to it with almost equal propriety. 

Doubtless you will exclaim, " A speech after dinner, — 
a toast proposed, — thanks returned, — surely anybody 



316 Social Oratory. 

who can say anything can do that ! " You need not try 
it to be satisfied that it is very much more difficult than 
you have thought it to be. Sit at any table where toasts 
are given and responded to, and seeing what a mess four 
out of five of the speakers make of it, you will begin to 
suspect that it is not quite so easy an accomplishment as 
you had supposed. Vacuity of thought and confusion of 
words are the prevalent characteristics ; some break down 
altogether ; some stammer through a maze of disconnected 
words ; some are fluent, but it is fluent nonsense ; some 
cannot extricate themselves for a moment from the con- 
ventional commonplaces. But among them, perhaps, are 
two or three, ran nantes in gurgite vasto, who say good 
things, perhaps even new things, in apt language and with 
a pleasant manner. Yet you will find often that the per- 
sons who have so pleased you are by no means distin- 
guished for genius or even for general ability, having 
intellects rather below the average, and intelligence by no 
means capacious. 

Should you be called upon " to propose a toast," or to 
return thanks for having been yourself proposed, you will 
probably make a discovery. You were tolerably fluent 
and talked sensibly enough at the Union in Oxford, at 
the Forensic Society in London, and at occasional public 
meetings ; but you feel very foolish now, and look as 
foolish as you feel. You could talk pretty w r ell when you 
had a subject to talk about. You have not learned the 
art of talking about nothing, and the accomplishment of 
sa} T ing something when you have nothing to say. 

This is the secret of social oratory, and explains its 
difficulties, its failures, and its successes. It can scarcely 
be called an art, for it seems to be a special faculty with 



Social Oratory^ 317 

which a few are gifted, but which is denied to the many 
Of course, like all powers of mind or bod}', it is capable 
of cultivation, but, like the gift of poetry or music, it 
must be bestowed by nature, and if the germ is not there, 
it cannot be implanted by art. 

Another peculiarity of this form of oratory is, that 
the larger the intellect, the more refined the taste, the 
loftier the intelligence, the more its difficulty in after- 
dinner speaking. The reason is its consciousness and 
sensitiveness. Its powers are paralyzed by perception 
of the ridiculous contrast between the bigness of the lan- 
guage and the littleness of the subject, by its sense of 
the hollowness of the praises and professions ; it can find 
nothing to say that is at once new and true, and its pride 
revolts from indulgence in the conventionalities which the 
parrot voices around him repeat again and again, with 
apparent unconsciousness of their threadbare wearisome- 
ness. 

Social oratory, then, is the art of saying a great deal 
about nothing, and saying it in a pleasant manner. It is 
not designed for any other purpose than to please for the 
moment. It partakes of the character of all social inter 
course, which is to make ourselves as agreeable to one 
another as possible, and to keep all that is disagreeable 
out of sight and hearing. The standing-up talk of the 
dinner-table should be only the sitting-down talk of the 
drawing-room, somewhat amplified, judiciously strung to- 
gether, and flavored with a few flatteries not permitted 
to be addressed to a man in a tete-a-tete, but which you 
are allowed, and indeed expected, to pour forth without 
limit of quantity or quality when you are speaking of him 
to others in his presence. 



3 18 Social Oratory. 

Can it be, you ask, that such exaggerated epithets ag 
are lavished upon a man, whose health is proposed at a 
dinner-table, can be gratifying to him? Do not his 
common sense and good taste revolt, as much as do 
yours, from laudations so undeserved that they have the 
appearance of ironical insults ? You have not yet learned 
the measure of human vanity. All men are open to flat- 
tery, more or less, but of most men the capacity for it is 
boundless. The most modest of us is not insensible to its 
influence, if judiciously employed. "We think that we 
hate flattery ," says the French cynic, " when all that we 
hate is the awkwardness of the flatterer." This is the 
key-note to successful social oratory. Flattery is its foun- 
dation and substance, and success is proportioned to the 
skill with which it is applied. Coarse flattery is better 
than none ; but refined flattery, gracefully draped, so 
that the object of it may enjoy it without the affectation of 
a disclaimer, is the climax of after-dinner speech-making. 
But laudatory language is limited. If there are many to 
be thus honored at the same table, or if the occasions are 
frequent, repetition is unavoidable. It matters not. The 
reiteration that seems so awkward to you is not so appar- 
ent nor so disagreeable to" your audience. They will 
laugh again and again at the same joke, applaud with 
equal fervor the same flourish of compliments to the 
same persons, as if so good a thing could not be heard 
too often. It is not necessary, therefore, to social oratory 
that you should be continually saying new things, or 
dressing up stale thoughts in new sentences. Having 
mastered a set of phrases, you may repeat them year by 
year through your life and gain rather than lose reputation 
by it. 



Social 0?'atory. 319 

Being thus supplied with stock speeches, }^ou should 
adapt them somewhat to the special purpose of the gath- 
ering. A single allusion to some topic suggested by the 
moment will cany off many minutes of stale platitudes, 
and secure for you the reputation of being an accom- 
plished orator. For this purpose you should be ever on 
the watch, if you know or suspect that you are likely to 
be "called upon." Cultivate gayety rather than gravity 
of tone and manner. Shun sermonizing. Let 3'our speech 
smack more of the champagne than the port. Let it be 
light, sparkling, playful, anything but dull. Suit the 
manner to the word. Do not attempt the oratorical in 
tone or action. Do not think of it as a speech, but only 
as talking on your feet without dialogue. Your business 
is not to instruct or inform, but to perform a ceremonial 
gracefully, and, if at the same time you can amuse, it will 
be a great triumph, and the companj 7 will be grateful to 
j'ou for helping them through the ordeal, which all are 
content to submit to, though all think it a dreadful 
bore. 

And this is another instance of the power of convention- 
ality. There is not an individual in any party assembled 
for social purposes who does not look upon this conven- 
tional speech-making as an infliction he would gladly 
avoid, but which he must endure in exchange for the good 
things of the table and in obedience to custom. So each 
says privately to his neighbor, who echoes the opinion ; 
the faces of the listeners unmistakably express their feel- 
ings, and their vehement applause, when the speaker " re- 
sumes his seat," indicates rather their sense of joy that 
the speech is over than of pleasure in the performance. 
But when his own turn comes each plays the same part, 



320 Social Oratory. 

and the custom survives the anathemas, and will probably 
linger for yet a long time to come. 

I cannot offer you hints for education in this branch of 
oratory other than those already given for some others, 
— 'practice. Little more can be done by way of teaching 
than to present some of the most prominent features of 
the art, and, more usefully still, by suggesting what to 
avoid ; but how to learn to do or avoid is a lesson which those 
who have attempted have always failed to teach, because 
it cannot be reduced to positive rules, but must depend 
upon the mental and physical capacities of the speaker. 
If your own intelligence will not prompt and your own 
good taste correct you, no instructions from others will 
drill you into becoming an adept in social oratory. 



THE END. 



INDEX 



ACTION— pagb 

on speaking, hints for • • • • • • .231 

ACTOR, THE— 

art of . • • • • 81 

ADJECTIVES — 

nse of, to be avoided •••••#••33 
ARTICULATION— 

study of . . • • • • • • • 76, 228 

ATTITUDE — 

in reading •••••••••107 



BAR, ORATORY OF— 






neglect of study of 


• • • • 


• • • .17 


causes of • 


• • • • 


• • . .18 


cultivation of • 


• • • • 


• • • .261 


bad habits • 


• • • • 


• • • .262 


first studies for 


• • • • 


• • . .265 


character of juries 


• • • • 


.266 


how to deal with a jury • • • 


• • . .267 


style of address to 


• • • 


• . . .267 


good temper • 


• • • • 


• • . . 268 


common juries • 


• • • • 


• • . .270 


how influenced • 


• • • • 


• • • .271 


special juries • 


• • • • 


• • . .275 


how to address the court • • • 


• • • .277 


how to address magistrates • • • 


• • . .280 


appeal to the feelings . • • • 


• • • • 281 


BIBLE, THE — 






how to read • 


• • • • 


• 155 


BUSINESS SPEECH — 






hints for • 


• • • • 


. 255 



21 



321 



322 Index. 



c. 

COMPOSITION— FAGB 

on talking, writing, and speaking .197 

COURT, THE 

how to address • • • • • • • *277 

D. 

DECLAMATION— 

how to read ♦ •••••••154 

DELIVERY— 

instructions for • • • • • • « • 224 

DIALOGUE— 

how to read •••••••••163 

DIDACTIC WORKS — 

how to read • • • • • • • • • 150 

DRAMA, THE 

how to read ••••••••• 161 

DRAMATIC READINGS — 

selections of, for public readings • • • • • • 185 

E. 

ELECTION — 

meetings at, how to address • • • • • • 295 

EMPHASIS — 

definition of • • • • • • • .93 

uses of • •••••• •••95 

how to learn •••••••••97 

illustrations of. • • • • • • • , 121 

EPITHETS — 

sparing use of* • • • • • • • .S3 

EXERCISES — 

in reading •••••••••184 

EXPRESSION — 

cultivation of* • • • • • • • .78 

what it is • • • • • • • • .79 

F. 

FACTS — 

uses and abuses of* •• • • • • • 255 

FIGURES — 

uses and abuses of •••••••• 255 

marshalling of, in a speech ••••••• 256 

G. 

GRAMMAR— 

study of • • • .49 



Index. 323 

H. PAGi 

BUMOR — 

definition of .170 

how to read • • • . • • • • ,170 

I. 

ILLUSTRATIONS — 

The Creation ......... 113 

Hamlet's Soliloquy . . . . ... .122 

Hamlet's Address to the Players •••••• 124 

Macbeth's Soliloquy • • • • • ... 126 

Burial of Sir John Moore . • • . • • .129 

Queen Mab ......... 131 

Nathan's Parable 133 

Death of Paul Dombey 136 

Invocation to Light . • • • • • • .145 

Julia's Letter 1*6 

Brutus's Speech ........ 308 

Mark Antony's Speech - • • • • • • .311 

INFLECTION— 

uses of . • • • • • • • • .104 

INTRODUCTION 9 

J. 

JURIES — 

how to address • • • .263 

L. 

LANGUAGE— 

choice of. • • • • • • • • .46 

avoid affectation and conceit ••••••• 47 

study of . • • • • • • • • .47 

how to write a sentence ••••••• 48 

grammar . •••••••••49 

H. 

MAGISTRATES — 

how to address •••••••••280 

MOB ORATORY — 

instruction for ••••••••• 296 

MEETINGS, PUBLIC — 

how to address ••••••••• 288 

parish meetings .•••••••• 289 

religious meetings •••••••• 290 

political meetings • • • • • • • • 295 

mixed meetings .•••••••. 291 

election meetings •••••••• 295 



3*4 



Index. 



N. 



NARRATIVE— 




PAGB 


how to read • • 




. 148 


selections of, for public readings • • • 


• 184 




0. 




ORATION, THE — 






in the Senate • • 


P* 


• • 25? 


PARISH MEETING — 






how to address . • 




• . .289 


PAUSE — 






use of . • • 






illustrations of • • 


• • • • 


• . .122 


PERORATION, THE — 






instructions for • • 




. 241 


POETRY — 






translate into prose • 


• • • <• 


. 34 


how to read . • 




. 139 


how not to read it • 




• 140 


illustrations . • 




• 145 






POLITICAL MEETINGS — 






instructions for • • 


• • • • 


. 290, 295 


PLATFORM, ORATORY OF- 






characteristics of • 


• '•'•• 


. 282 


public meetings . • 




• 283 


audiences of . • 




• 284 


manner . • 






good humor and good temper • • • 


. 286 


courage . • • 




• 287 


language . . . 




. 287 


the parish meeting • 






the religious meeting • 


• • • • 


• . .290 


mixed meetings . • 


• • • • 


• 291 


political meetings , 




• • .295 


election speeches • 


• • • • 


. 295 


mob oratory . • 


• • • • 


• • .296 


Brutus's Speech . . 


• • • • 




Antony's Speech • 

PT?OTVTTTSrf!T A TTON" 


• • • • 


• 311 


of words . .. • 




. 76 


of sentences • • 


• • • • 


. 76 


expression . , 


• • • • 


.78 


PUBLIC MEETINGS — 






how to address . • 




• • .288 



Index. 



325 



PUBLIC READINGS — 








PAGB 


instructions for . . , . • , # , .178 


list of compositions for . . 








. 184 


PULPIT, ORATORY OF 










neglect of . . , . , 








• 16 


causes of neglect • • • 








. 18 


instructions for . • • 








-. 244 


rarity of . . . . , 








. 245 


delivery ...... 








. 248 


action and attitude . . . 








. 248 


construction of a sermon • • , 








• 249 


PUNCTUATION — 


observance of , . . . • . . . .102 


B. 


BEADING — 


what to read ......... 36 


three kinds of . . . . , 








. 38 


good readers rare . . . 








. 65 


uses of • • • • 








66, 173 


how it differs from acting . . 








. 82 


requirements for . . . 








. 108 


at public readings • . . 








. 178 


exercises in ... • 








. 184 


READING, ART OF - 










neglect of . . . . 








. 14 


few persons have mastered • . 








. 15 


causes of neglect of . • • 








. 18 


what to read . • . . 








. 36 


uses of . . . • • , 








. 66 


good reading conducts to good speaking , 








. 66 


requirements of . • . • , 








. 67 


of reading rightly . . . < 








. 67 


necessary to understand . • 








. 67 


rapidity of perception ... 1 








. 68 


practice for . . . • • 








. 69 


reading aloud , • • • , 








. 69 


what to avoid . , m • • 








. 71 


- mannerism • • . . , 








. 71 


monotony . • • • . 








. 71 


first lesson . • • • 








•• 72 


articulation . . . • , 








. 74 


pronunciation of sentences • . « 








' . 76 


expression . . . • 








. 77 


sympathy .... 








. 79 


difference between acting and reading 








. 81 



326 



Index. 



BEADING, ART OF — (continued) 
understanding and feeling 
management of the voice 
tone • • • 

emphasis • • 

pause and punctuation 
management of the breath 
inflection • • 

attitude • • • 

mental cultivation • 
illustration . • 

lessons in reading . 
reading by children • 
Hamlet's Soliloquy . 
Hamlet's Speech to the Players 
Macbeth's Soliloquy . 
Burial of Sir John Moore 
Queen Mab . • 

Nathan's Parable • 
Death of Paul Dombey 
how to read poetry • 
Invocation to Light • 
Julia's Letter . • 

narrative • • 

didactic works • • 

sentimental works • 
declamation • » 

reading the Bible • 

dramatic reading • 

reading of wit and humor 
uses of reading . • 

public readings . • 

list of popular readings 

READINGS, PUBLIC — 
instructions for . • 

selections for • • 

REPLY, THE — 

hints for • • • 

RHYTHM — 

observance of • • 



SENATE— 

oratory of • 

the business speech 
the oration • 



252 
254 
257 



Index. 



327 



SENATE — (continued) 

the reply . • 

SENTENCES — 

how to frame . • 

structure of • • 

pronunciation of • 

SENTIMENTAL WORKS — 

how to read . • 

SERMONS — 

delivery of • • 

construction of . • 

language of • • 

SIMPLICITY — 

should be studied , 

SOCIAL ORATORY— 

instructions for . • 

after-dinner speeches . 

characteristics of . 

SPEAKING, ART OF — 

neglect of . . 

mastery of, by few . 

causes of neglect of • 

uses of . • • 

foundations of • • 
oratory must be cultivated 

first care of a speaker • 

what is a speech • 

composition . • 

preparations for • 

foundations of . • 

what to say • • 
composition of a speech 
cautions — how to begin 

writing a speech • 
difficulties 
outlines of 
language of 
first lessons 
recitation of 
defects to be overcome 

remedies for . • 

public speaking , 
preparations for 
do not write your speech 

your first speech • 

delivery . . , 



PAGE 

. 260 

. 33 

. 52 
. 76 

.152 

. 248 
. 249 
. 251 



• 60 

. 315 

. 315 

. 317 

. 14 

. 15 

. 18 

• 20 
. 22 
. 23 
. 24 
. 26 

• 26 
. 38 

190, 194 

. 196 

. 197 

. 201 

. 207 

. 207 

. 209 

. 210 

. 212 

. 213 

. 215 

. 216 

. 218 

. 218 

. 219 

. 220 

. 224 



328 



Index. 



SPEAKING, ART OF (continued) 

how to be heard • 

management of the voice 

tone . • • 

articulation • • 

variety • • • 

action . . • 

learn to staad still • 

construction of a speech 

how to begin . • 

the peroration . • 

when to sit down • 

oratory of the pulpit . 

oratory of the senate 

the business speech • 

use and abuse of facts and figures 

the oration . • 

the reply . . , 

oratory of the bar . 

how to address a jury . 

character of juries • 

how to address the court 

how to address magistrates 

oratory of the platform 

public meetings • 

parish meetings . 

mixed meetings • 

political meetings . 

religious meetings • 

mob oratory • • 

social oratory • • 

SPECIAL JURIES — 

how to address • • 

SPEECH — 

construction of • • 

STYLE — 

definition of • • 

cultivation of • • 



THINKING — 

how to think 
when to think < 
TONE — 

use of . 
illustrations of 



PAOfl 

. 225 

. 225 

. 226 

. 228 

. 230 

. 232 

. 232 

. 237 

234, 238 

. 241 

. 243 

. 244 

. 252 

. 254 

. 255 

. 257 

. 260 

. 261 

. 265 

. 270 

. 277 

. 280 

. 282 

. 288 

. 289 

. 291 

• 295 
. 290 

• 296 
. 315 

. 274 

. 237 

• 41 
. 43 



. 39 

32, 230 

. 118 



Index. 



329 



v. 



VOICE — 

management of 
tones of • 



l'AGZ 

87, 225 
• 91 



w* 



WIT— 

definition of • • 

how to read • « 

WORDS — 

study for • • 

choice of • • 

precision in • • 

parsing . . . 

music of . • 

WRITING, ART OF— 

first lessons in • 

aid from authors • 

words, study of • 

sentences, framing of 

avoid adjectives . 

translate poetry into prose 

reading and thinking . 

what to write . • 

what to read . • 

preparations for • 

style . . • 

cultivation of . • 

language . . . 

avoid affectation and conoeit 

grammar . . • 

choice of words • 

structure of sentences . 

must have something to say 

expression of thoughts 

precision in words • 

parsing . 

sentences 

music of words , 

rhythm . 

various faculties required for 

write slowly 

simplicity 

directness 

order of ideas 

difference between and speaking 



. 31 

32, 47 

. 54 

. 56 

. 58 



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$2.00 
$2.00 

$i.75 
$i.5c 

$i.5<- 

$1.50 

5° 
$1.50 

$2,OC 

$2.0C 



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